


A Drop of Night

by pan_dora



Series: Justifiable [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Doppelganger, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Hex Bags, Jealous Theo, Jealousy, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Brett/Stiles, Possessive Behavior, Post-Break Up, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Steo, Temporarily Female Stiles Stilinski, Threats of Violence, Underage Drinking, Violence, Void Stiles Stilinski, Witch Curses, Witchcraft, Witches, fake identity, violent behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-04-28 18:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14455158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan_dora/pseuds/pan_dora
Summary: Coming home was supposed to feel good. After almost two months of running for his life, of struggling, of hiding, all Stiles needed was to reunite with the people he loved. Most of all, he craved to see Theo again hoping to make right what he had ruined. Although still standing by his decision, Stiles wanted a second chance for their relationship.But Theo wasn't home when Stiles arrived, and he wasn't for quite some time despite knowing he was back. Furthermore, he learned what he had done during his absence. When they finally met, things didn't go as planned.And as if that wasn't already bad enough, his dad caved asking the pack for help with a series of murders he couldn't stop without a little supernatural intervention.





	1. Chapter 1

 

> Since I was young, I have always known this:
> 
> Life damages us, everyone. We can’t escape that damage.
> 
> But now, I am also learning this:
> 
> We can be mended. We mend each other.
> 
> (Veronica Roth)

 

* * *

 

“What is this?”

Stiles scrambled to his feet, sand hot against his skin. The sun continued to beat down on him, relentless, vicious. He barely remembered how the cold felt. Or the night, darkness. Even the concept of time seemed estranged. It was days since he arrived here, and although he couldn’t tell how many hours, how many days had passed, Stiles was aware that the light burning from the sky above him could not be trusted. Now, it seemed, as if the heat belonged to the least of his problems. Drawn around him was a large triquetra symbol. The sand inside its lines was dark red, reminiscent of blood. On every of the three peaks burned a fire.

“Hey!” He screamed, his voice breaking halfway through because of misuse and his constant being on the verge of dehydration. “ _Hey_! What is this?!”

One by one, the Skinwalkers appeared where the lines crossed, outside the small triangle Stiles was surrounded by. “Past. Present. Future.” They spoke in unison, their voices dull and emotionless. “Creation. Preservation. Destruction.” Stiles spun around, reached out a hand but even before his hand connected with something solid, he knew all too well that he was locked in by the bloody lines. “Life. Death. Rebirth.”

“Let me out of here,” Stiles demanded curled his hands into fists.

“We decided,” the one standing at his back began.

“You fought valiantly,” the Skinwalker with the red paint in her face acknowledged.

The one, who Stiles had always considered as their leader, eyes circled with what looked like black coal, the only one wearing something resembling a hood, slammed her spear into the ground. “You failed our tests.”

“No.” Stiles spun around to stare at her, panic rising in his chest. “No, I didn’t.” He couldn’t have failed. Every task, every monster they had thrown his way, he had overcome _everything_. There had been nothing he couldn’t do. “Please,” he begged, his voice trembling as much as his body. “I did everything you asked of me.” A single tear ran down his cheek. It almost came as a surprise, he was so sure the heat had burned out everything.

“A man cannot walk with us.”  

“Void cannot walk with us.”

“You know the price of failure.”

All three of them simultaneously stepped closer.

“Tell me what I did wrong,” Stiles ordered spinning around again, begging, pleading. “I can do better.”

“No second chances.”

The other two slammed their weapons into the ground, buried them in the sand until they stood by themselves. Stiles automatically backed away but hit the invisible wall behind him. In horror, he watched as they grabbed each other’s hands forming a circle around the triangle Stiles was imprisoned in. The second their skin touched, they started reciting something in a language he had never heard before – if it even was a language. But whatever they were saying, it took effect. The fires grew bigger despite the sudden storm curling around them. “No.” Stiles’ voice was buried underneath thunder. The earth beneath his feet quivered. “No, _please_!” He screamed turning again, trying to break free of his prison. “Please, let me go.”

The storm became stronger. Lightning strikes hit the ground, scorching the earth.

“ _Please_!”

The fire changed into a venomous green, attacking the invisible walls, circling around his prison. It’s almost as if it demanded a way in.

“ _No_! Break the symbol. Please! _Please,_ don’t do this. Let me go! Let me _go_!” He slammed his fists against the wall watching as the fire crept lower and lower, closer and closer ever so slightly. The heat made it hard to breathe. His dirty clothes stuck to his skin. He was out of time. “No, please!” His knuckles had split open, he could see the blood sticking to what kept him inside, making it look like it was floating in mid-air. “ _No_!” He looked behind him.

Nothing but an empty parking lot. He knew, however, there were at least six trailing him. Stiles steeled himself, then slammed his shoulder into the door. It gave way, and he slipped through rushing down the hallway. His sock-cladded feet were silent on the cold floor. Passing locker after locker, he searched for another door, a corner he could round, anything that would help him break line of sight. He glanced over his shoulder for a second time, seeing no one, yet not trusting to have lost them. That would have been far too easy. No matter how much the silence pushed down on him. He passed a classroom, then another one. Everything was empty and dark and quiet.

To his right was another hallway. He took a sharp turn grabbing one of the lockers to fling himself around. His heart pounded in his ears, shirt and sweatpants clinging to his body. The silence became to quiet. Every sound he made, no matter how low, sounded like a gunshot going off.

In the distance, he heard a door creak. Voices followed. Multiple footsteps.

Stiles didn’t take any chances. He came to a sudden stop at the first door he passed by. His fingers shook before closing around the cold knob. It turned, and he pushed the door open just enough to slip through. It was a maintenance closet. Better than nothing, Stiles supposed. If he stuck by the door, he shouldn't bump into any of the brooms or tools standing around. He closed the door with an almost inaudible click, but he still feared they had heard the sound. In the darkness, he searched for the screwdriver he had spotted close to the door. His knuckles bumped against cool metal, and he grabbed it. Without hesitating, Stiles pressed the blunt end into the palm of his left hand gnashing his teeth to keep any noise of pain away. As soon as the screwdriver broke his skin, he pushed it into the pocket of his sweatpants and pressed his hand against the wooden door. He closed his eyes despite the darkness, focusing, wanting the door to stay shut. He slit down the door, covering his mouth with both of his hands.

The steady footsteps grew louder.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. His heart beat a thousand miles per hour.

“Remember,” a female voice commanded, “shoot on sight. He may look like a normal teenage boy, but he sure isn’t.” It was hard to tell where she stood in relation to him. Her words seemed to bounce from wall to wall making it almost impossible to find a direction.

Their footsteps were slow, deliberate. Doors opened and closed. Someone banged on lockers as if they expected him to hide in one of them. At this point, he could only hope they weren’t as thorough as they probably should be. Two sets of footsteps came closer to where he was hiding.

Stiles shifted his hands, covering his nose and mouth. The stench of the cleaning agents became suddenly unbearable. He got into a crouch and slowly turned until he was facing the door. Against two, he could have a chance. In case the door opened, he’d bury the screwdriver in one and tackled the other. If he was fast enough, he would shoot them with their own bloody weapons. Otherwise he’d just dip.

“I can’t believe he killed the Skinwalkers,” a young man uttered moments before he jiggled the doorknob. Stiles tightened his grip around the screwdriver. “Makes you wonder what else he can do.” The footsteps passed him, continued on their way. It didn’t mean this was over. It didn’t mean he was off the hook. They were still looking for him. They were going to keep looking for him. This wasn’t over. This might not be over anytime soon.

Stiles closed his eyes, took a deep breath. A moment later, he rolled out of bed. His feet hit the cold floor, and he crossed the small motel room. Carefully, he chanced a glance out of the window parting the heavy curtains with two fingers. He was close to home now; close enough to dodge police cars because every deputy in the area knew his face, close enough to make a decision. Go home and risk the others to be caught in the crossfire or keep running. He let the curtains fall close again and switched on the light. It wasn’t bright, just enough to illuminate the contents strewn on the table.

His fingertips ghosted along the edge of the concealed katana. He needed to give it back. If he dropped it off, his pack would know he was alive. He wanted them to know. Nevertheless, they were not going to let him leave again, and even if he managed to sneak by, Lydia had learned how to track via Blood Magic. Brett knew it, too. They’d find him. No matter how often he would try to cloak himself, eventually, they would find a way to track him down – and that might be more dangerous. He curled his fingers around the handle, twisted his wrist and watched as the katana took form. The lightning confined within tickled his fingers. But he didn’t need power. Not now. Kira needed her weapon. He had hold onto it for far too long. The question was, how selfish could he be? He missed them. He was craving to see them again.

But he was hunted by a group of people who were equipped with a kind of power hard to determine. They were human. They were bleeding just like him, like his dad and Lydia. Still, there was something else, something Stiles couldn’t quite pinpoint. He didn’t know who they were hunting either – just him because they saw him as a threat, a freak, a _monster_? Or would they go after every supernatural creature crossing their path?

Stiles pressed the home button on his phone. His display lit up, long enough for him to see sunrise was still half an hour away, long enough to see Lydia and Theo looking back at him. He remembered how proud Lydia had been when she had burst into his hospital room, hands in the air like she’d won a price. “I have conquered him,” she had all but hollered. Stiles had squinted at her, wondered what the hell she had done which had put her in this particularly excited mood. Lydia had then crossed the room, almost crowing over Theo, who had followed in a sullen mood. As she had dropped on the mattress, she had presented him with an envelope. As it had turned out, Lydia had insisted Stiles would need pictures of the pack in his hospital room. Theo hated having his picture taken, but ‘Lydia locked me inside of that stupid photobooth. You know how she can be’. Lydia had continued to grin as the unpacked the pictures to demonstrate how she had allegedly locked him in.

The picture made him look awfully normal, like every nineteen-year-old boy walking on this very earth. Looking at him hurt. It hurt so bad. Every second of every day he regretted they way they had parted, the way Stiles had let them part ways. But he continued to stay by what he had done. It was the right decision. This had been something he needed to do on his own. He dropped the katana and slumped on the chair beside the table. Before he had ditched his old phone, Stiles couldn’t resist to keep a few photos of his pack. Having this picture as a lockscreen wasn’t his best idea, he was acutely aware of it. But despite knowing that, Stiles couldn’t bring himself to change much less delete it.

He needed to go home. He had to go home, if only to see how he was doing. It was reckless and selfish. Should the hunters know who he was, they might expect him to go back. Even though he had tried to cast false trails as often as possible, they had managed to track him down more than once, found him on his way home. He had tried leaving once and for all. He had his passport in his hand, and he had stood in front of a gateway. He was seconds away from boarding a plane to Russia – but Void didn’t let him leave. It bared its teeth and clawed at his skin, snarling, screaming. Stiles still wondered if maybe, it would have done something to the plane if he had boarded, if he had decided to leave his pack behind.

In that moment, Stiles had understood why the Skinwalkers considered their tests failed. Perhaps he could control his powers now, perhaps he knew how to wield them, but when it came to his pack he was a loose cannon. No matter how often he deviated from his path, somehow, he found his way back to Beacon Hills like someone gently pushed him in the right direction. Seeing them, making sure they were okay might please Void enough to let him leave – at least until he got rid of whoever was after him.

But he couldn’t go home like this. They were looking for him, they were looking for a guy. Maybe there was another way to get them off his track. It was risky, but he ran out of ideas. After everything he had tried, after weeks of trying to slip away- he didn’t know any other way. Stiles got to his feet. If he wanted to go home without putting his pack on the silver platter he needed to adopt drastic measures. After all, he didn’t fight for just himself. He fought for his dad, for his friends and his pack. Stiles swallowed around the lump in his throat. He could do it.

It wasn’t that far. A few meters. Not long. The middle of the bridge maybe. He could make it. He had to make it. That might be far enough in. He just needed to make it that far. Stiles glanced over his shoulder. There were three. Despite the guns in their hands, nobody risked taking a shot. Too many people. These hunters wouldn’t risk collateral damage. But they screamed and ordered for him to stop, for people to get out of their way. He wondered what witnesses thought they were seeing. A police chase, maybe? Three cops following a thief, a drug dealer, a murderer perhaps? Or perhaps something more sinister. Most people were too surprised to help. He was too fast for anyone to react. Under different circumstances, this would be sad. But he didn’t want them to help.

Stiles threw a quick _sorry_ over his shoulder when he shoved past a small group of young adults. He jumped over a pug, who barked indignantly at this rude treatment, then careened further down the walkway. It was early enough that following these people, a large patch of empty walkway followed. Stiles grabbed the railing and vaulted it, almost slipping on the metal when he landed. Screams and yelps of shock became audible. For a second, Stiles glanced underneath him. No ships. Just the body of water that would either be his demise or his way out.

“Don’t do anything stupid now, boy,” one of the men demanded pointing a gun directly at his face.

Stiles arched a brow. “See it my way-” He curled his fingers around the railing, heart pounding in his ears. His chance was fifty-fifty- “you shoot me, or I jump. Either way, I’m dead.”

A grin flitted across the man’s face, obscuring the scar running from the bridge of his nose down to his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles noticed the woman with the pug hysterically yell into her cell phone. He didn’t have time for the police. His identity needed to stay secret for now. If his dad believed he was dead- Stiles gnashed his teeth, then looked back at the hunter in front of him. “I’m a spiteful person.” He let go, flipping them off, then he hurled himself away from the bridge.

Screams cut through the early morning.

Panic came as he fell, as the bridge went further and further out of reach. His safety lost, and he risked everything. It was the helplessness, the doubts, the worry of having overestimated himself. But he closed his eyes preparing for the impact. The water was his friend. As was the wind tearing at his clothes. He would survive this fall. He couldn’t allow himself to die before he hadn’t talked to his father once more, before he hadn’t talked to his pack once more, before he hadn’t had another shot with Theo, to start over new or to draw a finish line.

The impact was hard. But the pain reminded him that he was still alive, told him that he had succeeded. His plan had worked. Stiles closed his eyes, allowed his body to sink a little deeper into the cold water. One more thing, and he could go home. Just _one thing_. His homesickness had carved enough marks into his heart. He needed to go home. There was no way around it. Stiles opened his eyes watching the long brown hair float around him, the fabric of his now oversized plaid shirt. His feet made contact with the sandy ground, and he pushed upward breaching the surface of the calm lake.

Stiles made sure he had stayed close to the lakefront. He forced himself to swim the small distance dragging himself the two meters to where his bag and new clothes laid in the grass. Every bone in his body hurt as if it had been broken, crushed and was now slowly mending. The feeling got worse as soon as he was out of the water. He couldn’t risk staying in. Not the way he barely clung to his consciousness. He wondered, briefly, if Theo was in this much pain every time he shifted into a wolf or back again. He always did it with such ease. Stiles closed his eyes.

Thinking about Theo was worse than any physical ache could ever be. When he came home, he knew everyone would be relieved, take him back in. Sure, they’d be angry about his lies. But overall, they would be happy to have him back, just as happy as he would he to reunite with his family. He couldn't say how Theo reacted, afraid to find resentment instead of relief.

He was too scared to even think about it.

Stiles grabbed his phone, anything that could distract him from these dreadful thoughts. As usual, his instincts told him to check the local news. However, the teenager who had fallen off the Golden Gate Bridge remained a mystery. Nobody knew if he jumped or if he had been pushed. Nobody knew who he was – Stiles had planted his wallet, old phone and a shoe at different spots, which would be revealed as soon as his father and pack knew he was safe. The only thing they were sure about was that survival must be impossible because he had landed on his back. He still carried the bruises on his skin, dark purple and blue, since he hadn't intended to waste any power he had needed for his first shift. With a sigh, he pushed his phone in the pocket of his jacket.

His fingers trembled slightly as he fumbled for the key in his backpack and pushed the key in the lock to his old home. The door opened with a quiet click, excitement running through his veins. _Home_. He was finally home. He heard rustling in the kitchen, the morning news a quiet background noise. The scent of freshly brewed coffee made his mouth water.

Stiles closed the door quietly, hung up his jacket and dropped his backpack on the shoe rack. He intended to say something witty, something stupid, anything really but as he found his father leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of steaming coffee in his hand watching Melissa cook breakfast, his throat closed. Seeing him after all these weeks, all these days of running and hiding, everything seemed suddenly worth it. He was okay. He was fine – more than fine even; if he interpreted this scene correctly.

The sudden sound of a porcelain mug crashing to the ground destroyed the picture of harmony. Melissa turned around to find the source of the noise. Her eyes locked onto Stiles, widening ever so slowly. It’s almost comically, a scene out of a movie, when she raised her hand to cover her mouth. He heard shards crunch underneath shoes and then, a second later, he was crushed against his father’s chest. Stiles didn’t get on his tiptoes. He just wrapped his arms around his father and buried his face at his shoulder. They stood like this forever. John holding on to him like he was afraid Stiles might just disappear while Stiles was clinging on to his father like he was everything that kept him alive. When they finally parted, Melissa took John’s place, and Stiles couldn’t stop his ugly sobbing and laughing and crying and all these emotions crushing down on him. For the first time since he had left, his body and soul felt mended, was healing, seemed complete.

Stiles ate breakfast with them, told them what had happened, although he left out the part how he had failed the Skinwalkers’ test. His father and Melissa didn’t need to worry about more than strictly necessary. It’s enough that they were concerned about the unknown hunters following him or that John would have to play along with the officials in case his wallet was found. The cloaking spell was lifted now since Stiles had decided on a time frame of three days. He had learned a lot of tricks during his time at Shiprock. After speaking about the necessary evils, John and Melissa had told him how they had _finally_ given in to their feelings. Stiles wished they could tell their grandchildren a story that sounded a little less dramatic, but in the end, his absence seemed to have been worth it.

John had not found this joke funny.

Melissa had invited the two of them out for lunch. Stiles had been in a good enough mood to let his father eat what he had wanted, who had constantly complained that everyone had kept an eye on his diet with Jordan being by far the worst. The topic of Scott had never come up, neither his relationship with Theo. Their talks had been light and drenched with laughter. Everything had been so easy and perfect, Stiles hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave. But when lunch had been over and his father as well as Melissa both had had to leave for work, he had known he couldn’t procrastinate any longer.

He had been dropped off further down the street. A car would alert everybody to his presence, and he wanted to give himself some time, approach the situation slowly. But when he spotted the corner of his house, his _home_ , the place he deemed his safe haven, his feet betrayed him. Although not quite running, Stiles was almost breathless when he reached the driveway. The gravel crunched underneath his boots. A sound so loud he believed everyone in the area could hear it. His heart hadn’t beat this fast since the last time he had been running for his life – and what he felt was far away from exhaustion. It’s nerves. Seeing his pack again was everything he needed, he wanted, he _craved._

And then, Stiles froze in the middle of the driveway when he saw Isaac walking from Lydia’s car, carrying a grocery bag, yelling at someone to get their ass out of the shadows to get the rest.

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed heavily. His heart seemed to want to outbeat itself. Stiles took a deep breath, then he tried again. “I can help.” His voice came out not half as stable as he would have liked it to be. It was shaky, weak and if not for the supernatural hearing, he might not even have been heard.

“Oh, bloody hell-“ Isaac cursed, turned around and froze. He just stared at him while the sun was beating down on them, while every second neither of them moved scared the living shit out of Stiles. Every single irrational thought he had had over the past weeks came crashing down on him. What if he was wrong? What if his pack resented him for leaving them? What if they think he abandoned them, betrayed them, left them to fend for themselves? What if he wasn’t welcome any more after all this time of complete lack of communication? But, finally, ever so slowly, Isaac started moving again. He put the grocery bag on the hood of the car. It fell over spilling bread and apples all over the floor. Neither Stiles nor Isaac paid any attention to that. Instead Isaac walked over to him, faster and faster until he was running, diminishing the distance within seconds. Stiles had just enough time to drop his backpack before he was, yet again, pulled into a bone crushing hug.

In another life, he had promised himself not to cry. It seemed like such a stupid pledge. He had been too starved off his family and pack, had struggled with too much alone to stop himself from breaking down now that he finally had them back.

Isaac pulled back, grabbed his face. “It’s you,” he breathed thumb caressing his cheeks. “You’re back. You’re home.” His touch grew gentle as he pressed their foreheads together. This intimacy between them might be new, a little strange and unexpected, he still felt like this wasn't close enough. The connection he had been used to had weakened over the course of their separation.

He wanted it back.

Stiles curled his fingers into Isaac’s shirt, holding on and pulling him closer. “I missed you so much.” He missed them more than he had been able to comprehend. Being here, now, made him realise how much he had really hated to be separated from all of them.

“Where were you?” Isaac asked, and his voice was shaking with silent tears and breathless laughter. “We came for you-“

Stiles grabbed his hands, squeezed them, closed his eyes to focus on Isaac, on pack, on _home_. “I’m here,” he whispered and wrapped his arms around his shoulder again. “I’m home.” He didn’t want to think about the last few weeks, he wanted to stay in the present – with his mind, with his body. All he needed was to be right here right now. Perhaps his father had already mended a lot of the damage he had suffered through, but it felt like the presence of his pack made sure these wounds stayed close.

“Why are the apples on the ground?!” Lydia’s voice cut through the air. “And the bread? Isaac, seriously. What-?” The sound of heels on gravel stopped. Her shift in attention was palpable.

Isaac let go of him almost grinning like an idiot. “Lydia, loo-“ But he didn’t come close to finish the sentence.

Lydia had already started rushing towards them. Stiles managed to make a single step towards her before she was crashing into him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck and shoulders. Their knees bumped, and they struggled for balance as their feet shuffled over the ground. Her hug, at the very least, didn’t threaten to break his spine. It still wasn't any less intense. “You’re back!” Lydia squealed moving back to cup his neck. “You’re back.” Her mascara clung to the skin just above her cheeks. But her eyes were shining with something other than tears. “Come on, _come_ on!” She grabbed his wrist and walked up to the house. “The others are going to lose it! Stiles, you have no _idea_ -“

He didn’t listen to what she said after. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at Isaac, who shrugged still with this abominable huge grin on his lips. Before he followed, he grabbed the backpack Stiles discarded. The way up the short driveway, Lydia stopped almost every five steps to hug him, and Stiles got the strong sensation she didn’t quite believe he was actually back. Stiles felt it, too. Coming home felt realer, however, with every step he took, with entering the house and hear a mix of voices from the backyard.

When they entered the kitchen, Kira was standing in front of the open apothecary cabinet, clearly expecting to put away the others purchases. She knocked over a glass of water standing on the kitchen island rushing towards him. It rolled over, dropping to the floor and the commotion caught the attention of everyone else outside. When she flung herself into his arms, chaos ensued. Stiles didn’t know who he was hugging half the time or who was saying something. Words and laughter and tears of reliefs passed around for what seemed to be forever. The most notable thing was probably Danny lifting him off the ground. Out of everyone, Stiles hadn’t really expected him to be this relieved.

After everyone calmed down enough, the questions and scolds came flooding in. There were so many, almost overwhelming and all at once, that Stiles needed to raise his voice to stop the chaos. Lydia grabbed his hand again, tugged him towards the couch, and they settled down like he was about to tell a story at a bonfire. His eyes roamed over everyone in the room, over everyone present and happy and relieved he was back home. They were all here, Lydia, Isaac and Kira, as well as Brett and Lori, Jackson and Danny, Mason, Liam and Corey. The whole gang. The whole pack. Well, almost everyone.

Because Theo was nowhere to be found. If he was in his room, he had clearly heard that Stiles had come home and decided against greeting him. If he wasn’t home, it would bring a whole new batch of questions; questions he didn’t know he wanted to have the answers to. It’s what he had been afraid off. Perhaps he had left the pack. Perhaps he had done something irreversible which had caused Isaac to take drastic measures.

Stiles didn’t know which outcome he hoped for.

But, for now, he kept the questions locked away in the back of his mind, tried to keep the sensation of dread from ruining how happy he felt to be back with his pack. Instead, he settled to start the story from the beginning. He told them everything he had told his father, and more. He opened up about having failed their test despite being in control about his powers in, like, ninety-eight percent of the time. He, even if very quietly, spoke about his plan to leave the country and why he hadn’t done it – not flinching at the incensed responses he received in return. Jackson sounded more offended about Stiles trying to protect them (“I can handle a few hunters, Stilinski!”), than not contacting them while being under threat. Some people had interesting priorities. Nevertheless, it was such a Jackson-esque response, Stiles couldn’t help but smile. This was his normality, and he seriously didn’t want to change it for anything else. Shaking his head, he continued to tell them about his days on the run and the decision to fake his death to go undercover; at least until things had cleared up. He added, before they questioned why he had taken such radical measures, that he believed whoever hunted him were not only in the cahoots with the Skinwalkers but also wielded some sort of supernatural power, magic, perhaps, although Stiles couldn’t quite bring himself to call them witches.

“I never heard of anyone working with the Skinwalkers,” Kira stated while putting her hair in a high ponytail.

Stiles let out a sigh and fell against the backrest. “I don’t know,” he muttered carding his fingers through his hair. “I tried so much. Like, I cloaked myself, I made a doppelganger – an illusion, basically, to lead them astray, I messed with their heads, I- ugh. They always found me. Every fucking time.” He capped and uncapped his water bottle sitting up straight. His eyes roamed over the worried faces. A moment later, he flicked his gaze up and towards the staircase, hoping, _wishing_ Theo would appear at the bottom or come in through the front door. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Lori bent her legs. Propping her chin on her knees, she scrutinised him intently. “And you think that’s going to work?”

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe? I was out of ideas, seriously. The least I’m hoping for is to have bought myself some time.” His glance skipped from Lori to the bottle in his hands. “We’ll see. When they find me here, I guess I’ll just have to-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Isaac warned wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him against his side. With a quiet sigh, Stiles leaned his head against his shoulder playing with the bottle cap.

“You should’ve told us,” Liam scolded crossing his arms over his chest.

“I had to ditch my phone,” Stiles reminded him.

Mason pressed his thumb and pointer against the bridge of his nose. “When we found the dead Skinwalkers, I expected the worst.” Apparently, both Kira and Jordan had budged, after Stiles hadn’t come home after a week, and told them where Stiles had gone to. That had lead to the first real fight within the pack as well as between Jordan and Isaac, who had not spoken to each other for half a week until the sheriff had intervened and sat them down like little children forcing them to apologise and shake hands. “How did you kill them?”

“I’m not sure,” Stiles admitted quietly. “I only remember this green fire. I was begging for a second chance and then, next thing I know, their dead bodies surrounded me.” He had two theories, either he had overloaded their sparks – which was a thing that could happen, apparently – or he had drained them. Either seemed perfectly plausible. But until he knew for sure what he had done to them, he’d rather not come around with any theories. He rubbed his left temple with two fingers. “Did you have any cases while I was gone?” Stiles was ready to change the subject since he didn’t know what else he could tell them about his time away.

“Of course,” Lydia deadpanned rolling his eyes at him. “While we were looking all over California for our lost alpha, we incinerated a few ghosts, beheaded zombies and-“

“All right,” Stiles all but yelled. “I get it.” His eyes flicked back to the staircase, down to the bottle and back again. An uneasy silence followed his words. It’s like everyone in the room was highly aware they couldn’t dance around the topic any longer, and they had danced around it. Not once his name had come up, neither Stiles had mentioned him nor the others. Thinking about what that could mean made him almost nauseous.

“Just ask,” Isaac demanded, pulling his arm away from his shoulder.

Stiles sat up jiggling his leg uneasily. He didn’t know what he wanted to ask first. Did he want to know where Theo currently was or how he had been doing during his absence? With a sigh, Stiles put the bottle on the table, then covered his face with his hands, pushing his hair behind his ears. “Where is he?”

“Probably hooking up with someone, somewhere.”

“ _Brett_!” Lori and Mason hissed in unison.

“What?” Brett shot back. “Did you intend to keep it from him?”

Stiles swallowed around yet another lump in his throat. Yes, he had told Theo that he wouldn’t have to wait on him, and yes, Theo had told him that he hadn’t needed to ask him to do so in the first place. But they had split up. They were separated. It hurt. The concept of Theo screwing around with other people hurt more than he could put into words. Despite everything, Stiles had always cradled hope for them getting back together when he came home, when was better. God, who was he kidding? “He can do what he wants,” he muttered after nobody said anything in response to Brett’s question. “It’s not like we paused our relationship. I broke up with him.” Stiles crossed his arms over his thighs not looking at anybody as he spoke.

Lydia wrapped her arms around his chest and leaned her head against his arm. “I don’t think he likes any of them.”

Stiles laughed, quiet and humourless. “It’s okay,” he said awkwardly patting her arm. “I mean, I didn’t exactly expect a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolate when I come home. We’re talking about Theo after all.” Again, he shook his head trying to get rid of the dread pooling in his stomach. Perhaps he should’ve just changed the stupid background of his lockscreen. It fuelled his naïve hopes. Theo had said it himself, multiple times now. _I don’t take rejection very well_. Stiles covered his face for a second time. “I wanna get drunk,” he admitted then, and it wasn’t just the fact that Theo fucked other people. It’s every batshit crazy thing he had encountered, every minute he had spent running, every second he had been away from his pack. “I wanna get seriously fucking wasted.”

“You don’t even drink,” Kira pointed out drawing her brows in.

“Now you know how fucked up my life has been while I was away.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You could have _told_ me Cris is a werewolf,” Stiles complained slapping Brett upside down the head, who almost dropped the bottle of beer he was holding. “I almost had a conniption when he called me by my name.” He flopped down on the empty beach chair opposite him kicking off his boots as soon as he sat.

Lori exchanged a confused glance with her brother, then she squinted at Stiles from the edge of the pool. “Cris Lewandowski?” She asked crossing her legs. Stiles noticed the bottle of Coke standing at her side and wondered if that’s her brother's doing. He certainly wouldn’t put it past him to be the kind of big brother prohibiting her to drink although it wouldn’t have any effect anyway.

“Is there another Cris in your pack?” Stiles asked making room for Isaac, who sat down with a grunt falling against his legs. Rolling his eyes, although meant fondly, Stiles reached out his hand to ruffle the curls. Isaac had been – he would never admit to it – very clingy since the moment Stiles had come back home. Perhaps he had noticed their connection to be weaker as well. But it’s certainly at least fifteen degrees too hot for physical contact to be tolerable.

Brett moved around until he faced the two of them without having to crane his neck. “No,” he replied arching a brow. “Still don’t get why you know him, though.”

Stiles pursed his lips, releasing a sigh. “Doesn’t matter.” Although being a little peeved, Stiles decided not to continue this conversation because he shouldn't sound like an arrogant prick – and he sure would if he said anything about not being brought up _once_ during his classes. Lori danced, which he should've probably remembered. Cris had told Isaac and him today how she had applied for a scholarship. With Brett having finished High School, he hardly could blackmail Devenford to keep his sister. But the school was craving students with exceptional performances in sports, and, according to Cris, Lori danced like she pursued a career which could torpedo her to the top. Cris being himself, he couldn't refrain from telling Stiles how he had disappointed him by abandoning his talents for something as barbaric and ungraceful lacrosse.

“Where did you meet Cris?” Lori inquired now scrambling to her feet. Flicking a few droplets of water into her brother’s face, she sat down beside him. Brett scowled at his sister.

Stiles waved a hand in her direction, squirming in his seat. “Doesn’t matter.”

Isaac gaped at him. “What is it I’m hearing?” His laughter cut through the garden capturing the attention of Jackson and Danny, who both manned the barbecue grill trying their hardest not to set anything on fire while lighting the charcoal. They turned their heads simultaneously as Isaac moved and straddled the beach chair now facing Stiles instead of the house. The grin on his lips was terrifying. “Did he hurt your tender ego?” He asked chortling and patting Stiles’ knee. “Poor boy.”

Stiles flipped him off. “Shut your mouth, Lahey.”

“Oh, that’s tasty.”

“Shut up.”

Isaac snorted out a laugh. “I’m so bloody excited for him to come over tomorrow. He looked like he had an epiphany when you told him you’d start dance again.”

“Wait-“ Brett jutted his hand in the air suddenly like he knew the answer to a question the teacher had asked. “Your name isn’t Stiles.”

Danny yelped as flames shot in the air momentarily distracting everyone from Brett’s scintillation. “They’re supposed to _smoulder_ ,” Jackson called pointing at the barbecue grill.

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell.” Clapping Stiles’ leg, he stood up and walked over to them muttering something under his breath sounding suspiciously like lazy sods.

Lori and Brett turned back around. “He’s always talking about some guy with a _complicated_ name,” she continued as if the conversation and never been interrupted.

“ _Mieczysław.“_ His name sounded odd in his own ears. Not quite wrong, just weird.

“That one,” Brett agreed pointing at him before furrowing his brows in confusion. “Why doesn’t he call you Stiles like every other person on this planet?”

“Because, quote-unquote, we Polish people have to stick together.”

Lori snorted. “I can’t believe you're-“

Stiles suddenly perched up as he heard the front door close. Despite intending to keep his cool, he whipped his head around, hand pressed beside his thighs on the beach chair. Truth be told, Stiles was ready to jump to his feet – but when he spotted Kira and Lydia walk through the entrance hall carrying two bags, his muscles went lax. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying to clear his expression from the disappointment and the fear. But he was with werewolves. How childish of him to even try.

Lydia raised both bags in the air before walking up the stairs followed by Kira.

“You deserve to be treated better, you know?” Brett told him quietly.

Stiles cleared his throat, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. The ghost of a smile flickered over his lips as he glanced at the siblings sitting opposite him. “I guess, I’ll have to try on the clothes Lydia bought for me.” He stood, unsure for a moment, if he was supposed to say something else. The air felt loaded with something left unsaid, and he didn’t know who of them exuded this impression. But as Brett and Lori continued to be silent, Stiles turned on his heels and hurried inside.

 

His finger hovered over the call button, trembling slightly.

Maybe it was the alcohol trying to convince him to call. But Stiles didn’t even know what he wanted to say, what he should say. He had seen Isaac texting Theo, informing him that he had come home when he had thought Stiles had looked the other way. Since then, Isaac regularly checked for a reply. His face spoke volumes every time he pushed it back in the pocket of his jeans. If he decided to call, Theo wouldn’t even know it’s him. After all, Stiles had gotten a new phone and number. Then again, Theo might not even answer if he didn’t know who was on the other end. And what could he say? What if he said something wrong? What if he said something that would-

“Hello there, beautiful.” Brett sat down next to him regarding how Stiles locked his phone with his lips curled in a tight line. “All alone here?” He wriggled his brows then offering a shot of Tequila. It’s the only schnapps Stiles kind of enjoyed. He wasn’t too big on alcohol in the first place, and Whiskey tasted like bad memories and regret. His father despised Tequila, maybe that’s why Stiles didn’t have a problem with it – nothing lousy to connect it to.

Stiles took it with a crooked smile, carefully pulling the lemon off the edge. “I’m actually waiting for Mason,” he replied tapping his nail against the glass. “He said he needed to show me something exciting.” Stiles was highly aware of Brett watching him as he licked the skin between his thumb and index finger. Despite himself, he felt some sort of thrill at that. Perhaps he was making a complete dumbass out of himself because he interpreted things wrong, but he prepared himself to take a gamble. But should he? Should he really?

He was single.

Theo had fucked other people.

Theo didn’t even come _home_.

When he took the saltshaker out of Brett’s hand, Stiles made sure their fingers brushed, and his touch lingered _just_ a little too long. Perhaps his flirting technique wasn't brilliant or imaginative. But it seemed like it didn’t need to be. Without much hesitation, Brett took his hand, careful, easy. It’s such a sharp contrast to Theo’s touches, who tended to use a certain kind of pressure whenever he intertwined their fingers or put a hand on his body. Although it had never been forceful, it always had this certain possessive nature; more like Theo needed to reassure himself Stiles was _his_ boyfriend and that he was allowed to touch him.

Had been allowed to.

“Knowing Mason, it’s either lewd or lethal,” Brett noted with a smirk, sprinkling salt on the wet skin. He put the shaker down, fingers brushing over his wrist before he fully let go. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek. With a chuckle, Brett touched glasses before downing his shot. Stiles watched him swallow without acknowledging the disgusting taste – and Jägermeister was _seriously_ revolting. He had no idea how Isaac, Brett and Liam could continue drinking it considering that the alcohol would never take any effect. Which meant they literally drank the stuff because they enjoyed its taste. 

Stiles raised his own glass. He shouldn't drink anymore. He shouldn't even started drinking alcohol in the first place. “Let’s hope it’ll be the first,” he muttered, shaking his head to get rid of the doubt, then licked the salt off his skin. Again, he was highly aware of Brett’s eyes on him, his mouth, his throat as he downed the Tequila. Had it always been like this? Had he always looked at him like this? Shuddering, Stiles put the glass next to his phone and sucked on the lemon to eliminate the aftertaste. Alcohol was disgusting, and its effects even more so. Why did he drink it? He should stop. 

“Mhm,” Brett hummed leaning forward to dip his fingers into the water, drawing small circles into its surface. “I wouldn’t mind lewd.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t.”

Brett looked over his shoulder. His lips curled into a smirk, left corner of his mouth twitching upwards and left eye narrowing ever so slightly, almost like he intended to wink but stopped halfway. It’s pretty fucking obvious why Beacon Hills' teenagers and young adults drooled over him; bright blue eyes, neatly styled hair and _that_ kind of smile. It did funny things to Stiles’ general groin area now that he directed it at him. The alcohol didn’t prevent anything in the slightest. S _o, stop drinking. Go to the others_. Brett was attractive as all hell, but he wasn't- Stiles cleared his throat, then licked his lips. Brett’s gaze flicked down to his mouth, smile slipping off his features for the fraction of a second. But when they locked eyes once more, it’s back in place. “Don’t make me wet,” Stiles warned finally breaking the charged silence around them; only when the words were out of his mouth he noted the unfortunate phrasing.

It hadn't escaped Brett’s notice. “I doubt I need water for that.”

Heat crept up his neck and cheeks. Stiles covered his face with his hands. “That’s not what I meant.” Fucking Tequila. He might not be drunk, but he couldn’t deny being at least a little tipsy. Either way, his brain to mouth filter didn't quite work at its best anymore.

Brett grabbed both of his wrists, thumbs pressing against the back of his hands. “There are better reasons to flush,” he whispered, and his right hand slid along Stiles’ forearm. The touch was light and became softer the further his hand travelled; until just his fingertips ghosted over his upper arm. Stiles could feel goose bumps following the caress. Although he had dropped a hint weeks ago, which he had interpreted more as a joke than anything else, Stiles really hadn’t quite expected Brett would flirt with him. He had never done so before. This was too forthcoming, too direct. It wasn't right, was it? Stiles doubted he'd do that. Not like this; and Isaac had probably warned him, he'd probably told him to wait- would Brett really go this far? He'd never done this before, no matter how much he disliked Theo. But he had been in a relationship. Now, he wasn't.

And Theo was fucking around, too.

 _God,_ he needed to find a better excuse. 

“Yo, Stiles!“ He flinched when Mason reappeared at the edge of a pool. Brett shot the other teenager a withering look. Corey, who noticed the expression, widened his eyes in horror. His dear boyfriend, however, turned out to be too excited to notice how he basically cockblocked his alpha and Beacon County’s golden boy. Instead, Mason sat down, crossed his legs and jutted an old, tattered book in Stiles’ face. “Look,” he stated bouncing up and down in sheer excitement, “it’s a French spell book.” He pointed at the illegible book cover. “Theo got it a while ago. I read a few of pages. Seems to me, like they’re mostly elemental magic. So, I thought it might be for you.”

Stiles carefully opened the book somewhere close to the middle. The pages were yellow and wrinkly. Some crinkled when he turned them. But Mason seemed to be right about it being a grimoire. Every single page had been written on. The handwriting was neat, the superscription almost calligraphic in their style. He knew some of the spells, or no. He didn't. Or did he? He shook his head again, clearing his mind. “You do know Void and a witch aren't the same thing, right?” Stiles reminded him lowering the book until it rested on his legs. “I can’t just recite a spell. I need a source.”

Mason, still bouncing in sheer excitement, pointed at the book. “But you said you have trouble focusing. Maybe doing that, like, helps you keep your mind on the task?”

Brett scooted a little closer, his thigh and heat pressing against Stiles as they both took a closer look at the book. Why was he so affected by his presence? He hadn't been the last time they'd sat close together. Whatever. Ignore it. Focus on the spells. Or Mason. Focus on what Mason said. Because he might be right. Maybe these little incantations helped him wielding the magic inside him better. After all, even the Skinwalkers had mentioned that control would only be the first step. Bending reality to his will with his mind alone was something entirely else. Brett was still so fucking close, and his hand was  _right there_. He cleared his throat, pushing the thoughts away. “When you say Theo ‘got it',” Stiles wondered out loud scratching at a blotch of dried ink, “I hope you mean he ordered it online.”

“Uh.” Mason stopped bouncing and instead looked a little conflicted. “I don’t know. He came home with it one evening, went straight into his room and never spoke of it again.”

“You went into his _room_?” Corey stared at his boyfriend. “He’s going to kill you when he finds out!”

Looking back to the grimoire, Stiles turned another page. He wondered who it belonged to. Who did that entitled chimera stole it from? “Well, fantastic,” Stiles muttered and slammed it shut. Brett furrowed his brows at the anger he probably picked up on.  _Fuck_. “Now I have to assume he fucked a witch and stole from them while they were asleep.” Shaking his head, he pushed the book away from him and crossed his arms. “Or he killed them. I wouldn’t exclude either,” he added darkly. Theo's the root of all evil. He's the one causing problems. He fucked around and after Stiles had returned, he didn’t even have the decency to show his stupid face. Hurt and dread settled in his stomach; certainly better than anger. 

Mason’s whole expression drooped. All he wanted was to help him, to share an idea with him – and just because it’s a grimoire Theo had acquired without any of them knowing how, Stiles shot him down like an asshole. Guilt added itself to the trifecta of terrible emotions. “Fine,” he muttered grabbing the book to find the page he had read a moment ago, “make room.” Corey tugged Mason a little backwards as Stiles grabbed the saltshaker, uncapped it and created a circle with its content. When he was done, he glanced at Brett. This could certainly help things move along a little faster. “Can I use you? I mean-“ Oh, for fucks sake, his _mouth_. Mason blinked a couple of times, then he stared at him as if he had just learned something unbelievable. Stiles turned completely away from, pressing his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose. “Can I draw from your spark?”  _Keep you fucking calm._ It's nothing more than a little spell. 

Brett chuckled. “Sure,” he agreed smirking at him. “What do I need to do?”

Stiles wet his lips almost a little nervously, then trailed his hand down Brett’s arm towards his wrist and curled his fingers around it. He hesitated for the fraction of a second, then he placed his hand above his knee. “Skin on skin contact is fine.”

Brett moved his hand a little further up his thigh. “Okay, anything else?”

He should push it away, shouldn't he? The touch was a little too friendly. He should move- “Just… just be quiet please.” Stiles shook his head, curled and uncurled his fingers. It's an easy spell. He could perform it in his sleep. “Your hand might feel a little cold,” he explained while placing his own above the salt circle. “The Skinwalker I trained with said that happened to her every time I’ve drawn power from her. So, don’t worry about it.” In lieu of a verbal response, Brett tapped a finger against his skin. “Okay.” Stiles cleared his throat. He blocked out everything, from the touch, the heat and his own heartbeat. When he had nothing but the salt in his focus, he recited the words under his breath over and over again. “Incendie à ce sel.” Thank god, he'd taken French during High School, otherwise this might have turned out to be a problem. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noticed how Brett’s skin turned cold while his own became warmer and warmer.  _It worked_. For a few seconds, the energy from the spell lingered in his palms. Stiles moved his hands as if pushing something down, and, finally, the energy left him and ignited the salt.

“Holy shit!” Mason clapped his hands. “This is _so_ cool.”

Brett’s hand inched up his thigh, bypassed any intimate part, and slipped underneath Stiles’ shirt. He jolted, more at the icy skin on his stomach than the intrusion. “Sorry, I need something hot to warm up,” Brett apologised pulling Stiles just the tiniest bit closer. Stop it.  _Stop him_. Push his hand away. Theo could come home every given second. He could see them like this. If he saw them- if he were to see this- it would be like tasting his own medicine. He had promised to wait. Maybe he deserved to witness the consequences of a broken promise. 

“I'm pretty sure the fire-“ Mason began, then his mouth rounded into a perfectly shaped _O_. It stayed like that for a few seconds.  _Say something_. Stiles had absolutely no fucking idea what he thought about what was happening right in front of his very eyes. But he wanted him to voice his opinion; he wanted him to say if this was right or wrong - because he couldn't set his mind straight. He  _couldn't_ - Mason looked down at the burning salt line before his eyes snapped up again. “Can you do more?” Or he had the attention span of a fucking squirrel. That worked, too.

Corey covered his face.

Brett cleared his throat.

“Using magic is physically and mentally quite exhausting,” Stiles answered slowly, and his gnawing worry yielded another problem. Although this was only something small compared to what he had done before, he knew that doing too much would have him fall asleep in approximately an hour. When he shifted into this body, he barely made it out of the lake he transformed in. Almost as soon as he lay down, he had fallen asleep... but where did he wake up?  _When_ did he wake up? The lake. He woke up at the lake. He had to have. Where else could he have woken up? A slight headache began pounding against his left temple, and he furrowed his brows. Something wasn't quite right. Something irked him, but he couldn't quite place what.  

Corey furrowed his brows. “What?”

All these questions. Couldn't they just shut up and let him be? “I realised something,” Stiles answered slowly, racking his brain to figure out how to answer the question without making this more complicated. The fire in their midst dwindled and diminished burning up the salt. Stiles curled his hand into a fist, then shook his head. “I don’t think I did anything to the Skinwalkers.”

“What? Why?” Mason leaned towards him.

“There's been fire and a magical prison. Do you know how much power it would need to not only protect myself but also kill the Skinwalkers?” Stiles explained choosing his words carefully while. “There’s no way, anyone would have been able to stand afterwards. But running out of the desert and then hiking the street for miles until there was a gas station to take a break. That amount of magic, it would've-“

Brett inclined his head a little, eyes narrowed slightly. “Adrenaline? You fought for your life.” His hand hadn't moved, but something in his expression had changed. 

It didn't sit well with him. He should probably change the topic. “No. I mean- maybe." Stiles grinned up at him, trying to pretend like his mind wasn't a complete mess right now. "It's possible. But, whatever." Clearing his throat, he nudged. "Do you want to see something else?" He asked, and before the question had fully left his mouth, Mason had grabbed the grimoire and flicked through it. "If, uh- if Brett doesn't mind, that is." 

The werewolf smirked. "No," he replied very slowly. "No, I don't mind." 

 

“You know,” Lydia said slipping into the space Kira had vacated a few seconds ago, “you _are_ allowed to have fun?”

Stiles merely glanced at her before taking the glass out of Isaac’s hand and wiped it dry. “Mhmm.”

Lydia propped her head on his shoulder. In secret, she most likely high-key enjoyed that Stiles was as tall as her in this body. “You know who’s fun?” She tapped his cheek then pointed back outside. Although the only thing illuminating an empty spot near the pool was a small lantern, he didn’t need to think hard about who she could possibly be talking about. But because Lydia was Lydia, _she_ had to say it out loud. “Brett’s fun.”

Isaac pulled the plug. “I’m going to bed.” He turned to ruffle Stiles’ hair, but the grin on his lips didn't reach his eyes. There was not a single doubt in his mind about what would happen if he were to leave.  _So, stay_ , Stiles wanted to say but his mouth didn't move. He wanted to order him to stop him from making a mistake, to stop them from doing something stupid. His mouth still didn't listen to him. Perhaps because some part of him knew that he was the only one who could stop it. Perhaps because he should realise that this was sex. It wouldn't hurt anybody. 

Anybody but Theo. 

“I’ll go, too.” Lydia grinned, tearing him away from his thought and almost causing a flutter of panic at the same time. _Don't go_. “Have _fun_ ,” she insisted pecking his cheek. Why was she pushing him? Why did she want him to sleep with Brett? And why did that grin look so weird on her face? She hurried to follow Isaac, catching him at the foot of the stairs. Stiles noticed how she wrapped an arm around the werewolf's waist, almost like she was trying to steady him. Isaac glanced back at him once, his motions oddly stiff. For a second, he halted on the stairs, eyes locked on something behind him. He nodded, after a moment, and followed Lydia upstairs. 

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and ran a hand over the nape of his neck. _Fun_. Yeah. Fun. Was this going to be fun? Was this really a good idea? He tapped a finger against the kitchen isle. Outside, he heard the beach chair scrape over the floor near the pool. His stomach did the weird little thing it always did when he was nervous. It’s not exactly a positive nervous energy. It’s more the type that made him question if this was the worst decision of his life. Of course, he knew it's just sex. Sex didn't have to mean anything. But with Theo and Brett, it might mean a hell of a lot more than hooking up. This could potentially blow up in his face. It could ruin everything he had come here for. 

 

“Am I so unattractive that you need encouragement?” Brett wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist, two fingers slipping underneath the hem of his shirt.

A small chuckle escaped his lips. He didn’t turn around, but straightened, pressed his back against Brett’s chest. “Does it hurt your ego that I’m not drooling all over you, Golden Boy?” Just say no. Just tell him you had to speak to Theo first. It's that simple. He would understand. Everyone would understand. If he had spoken to Theo- but Theo hadn't spoken to him first, had he? He had used their break-up to sleep around; like he wouldn't even care. Perhaps he didn't anymore. He'd been gone for so long. With his track record, he had probably moved on long ago. 

Brett chuckled. “A little confused, maybe.” His lips trailed the shell of his ear. “I got the impression we’re on the same page.”

But were they? Were they  _really_?

“Forgive me for wondering if this ruins our friendship.”

For the fraction of a second, Brett stiffened behind him. Every single muscle in his body went rigid. But it was over so quick, Stiles couldn’t tell if it maybe was nothing more than his imagination. “What if I told you that this won’t change anything?” He suggested a moment later, lips moving against his ear. “I think we’re both in a position where we can differentiate between lust and love.” His thumb slipped inside his shorts, the other hand trailed up his body until it found its place at the crook of Stiles’ neck. “Friends with benefits are more common than you think.”

Stiles moved his fingers between Brett’s on his stomach and stopped his hand from moving. This shouldn't be happening. It simply shouldn't. He had to pull his hand away. That he let it get this far was already enough to ruin his chances with Theo. They could talk about what he had done. It didn't matter. He just had to talk to him first. He had to pull Brett's hand away - but his body didn't listen to him. Why didn't his body listen to him? Why did he enjoy this so much? Because he was allowed to. Because he could. This was fun. Lydia had told him it's fun, it's okay. Leaning back against the taller werewolf, Stiles guided his hand down. 

Brett got the hint. He shifted his hand between his shoulder blades and bent him over the kitchen isle. The nervous energy vibrated into excitement rather quickly. His shirt was pushed up to his shoulders, and while two fingers moved in small circles between his legs, Brett kissed every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Stiles expected the use of teeth that never came, expected the hand at his shoulder to curl around his throat, but it never moved. It was so- confusing and wrong, off-kilter. His mind was struggling to accept was his body craved. He hated himself for feeling so good as soft lips trailed down his spine, sometimes accompanied by a nosy tongue – and it turned out that Brett was just as skilled as he had claimed to be.

A flick of his tongue sent Stiles jolting into the kitchen isle. Embarrassed, he covered his mouth with his hands. They were out in the open. Everyone could walk in at them at every given moment - maybe someone should walk in, maybe Isaac should come back back down - and Brett was not shy to dip his tongue into him every now and then. His hold on his thighs was strong, fingertips pressed against skin instead of nails. Despite Brett’s skilled mouth, the chimera wouldn't leave his mind. It was stuck there like glue, and he slipped up more than once to compare what was happening to what should be happening. Theo needed to leave marks, to claim, to let them both know they belonged to each other. Brett didn’t have these insecurities. His touches were soft but insistent, kisses curious but assertive. He knew his place, he knew he could and so he would.

This was like a dream come true. 

But it wasn't. He never wanted to sleep with Brett. Confusion and a small spark of panic knotted Stiles' stomach. It went completely unnoticed. Brett's smirk pressed against his lips when he spun him around and lifted him up on the kitchen isle. There was space between them when he struggled to yank the shorts and slip over his boots. He cussed and laughed and told Stiles to shut up before the pieces of clothing finally hit the floor. Brett kissed him, sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and let Stiles work on his jeans and zipper, propped his hands almost lazily onto the kitchen isle. The level of confidence was enviable, but Brett was nice enough not to comment on the seconds of hesitation passing by until Stiles wrapped his hand around his dick. He also unabashedly mentioned he forgot the condoms in his backpack outside. But instead of simply going to get them, he hoisted Stiles up and carried him outside.

“It’s a werewolf thing, isn’t it?” Stiles muttered rolling his eyes.

“What?”

“Carrying people around.”

Brett scoffed, then let him down near the beach chair. “Maybe you give off the impression that you want to be carried,” he suggested conjuring a condom out of his backpack surprisingly quickly. “Ever thought about that?” He waggled his brows cackling as Stiles yanked him close and down by the collar of his shirt. His mind had settle, and he intended to keep it that way. They kissed again, seamlessly moving from a standing into a sitting position. Brett only pulled away after he’d put on the condom, one eyebrow almost expectantly quirked as he leaned back and got comfortable. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek, then he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and lowered himself onto him. It felt good, but it wasn’t quite the same as when he was guy. Although Brett’s eyes fluttered mostly shut, Stiles couldn’t help but feel watched. Releasing a shuddering breath, he leaned forward letting his hair fall into his face. He’s glad he still wore his shirt.

It took a few seconds of not moving, until Stiles pulled Brett up by his shirt and said shirt over his head. Brett wrapped his fingers around his waist, a moment after Stiles’ started to trace the tattoo on his collarbone. For some reason, both of them laughed almost breathlessly – perhaps because the situation was slightly odd and, at least for Stiles, completely unexpected. But then Brett kissed him again. They both started moving, out of rhythm, and they needed some time until they found one together. Stiles wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Brett curled his around his waist. It’s so odd to look down on the taller werewolf, to have Brett tilt his head back. Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut, their foreheads pressed together. Heavy breathing and little gasps were everything he heard for a while.

Until someone called his name  - and suddenly, his mind snapped back into reality. Once. He was sleeping with Brett. Twice. What the hell was he doing? _Get up. Stop this._ But before either of them had the chance to react, the outdoor lights flickered on. “Stiles!” Jordan called obviously _not_ realising what he was walking in on. “Your father is trying to reach you for an hour now. He’s freak-“

And he noticed. 

Stiles spotted the exact moment, Jordan had put two and two together. He literally froze mid-step, one hand raised in the air beckoning him to come over. “Oh, I’m- okay.” He used his already raised hand to cover his eyes and turned around. “Can you- I’m going back inside. You, uh-“ Jordan didn’t finish his sentence and instead hurried back through the open patio door which closed with a loud thud after him.

Brett fell onto his back with a groan.

For some reason, Stiles felt highly relieved. 

 

“Why didn’t you _tell_ us?” Lydia inquired crossing her hands and narrowing her eyes. She was still tired and slightly tipsy, her hair put in a messy bun and she still ran around in her pyjamas, but, damn, she looked about as ready to throw down as anybody could. Her glance, however, constantly skipped back to Stiles. Sometimes, her eyes narrowed, and she looked at Isaac who wore a stony expression, then to Kira who continued to look at her fingers with widened eyes, looking almost shell-shocked. But this wasn't the first time a case turned gruesome. Why were they reacting so strangely? 

Isaac pulled his phone out of his pants. An emotion Stiles couldn't place flickered over his otherwise carefully controlled expression. Relief, perhaps? What would he be relieved about, tho? He nudged Kira's side and showed the phone to her. Her face was a lot easier to read. The hint of a smile tugged at her lips, and she pressed a hand to her chest. Isaac whispered something in her ear, catching Stiles squinting at him as he did. But he didn't even react. He just looked him dead in the eyes while Kira nodded along to whatever he was telling her.  

What the hell was going on?

Stiles turned to look at Lydia, who quickly turned pretending to have her focus on Jordan all along. He wet his lips, squirming in his seat. Something was wrong. Most of the pack didn't seem to behave unusual. Well, Jordan was highly embarrassed and tended to keep his eyes anywhere but Stiles or Brett, that, however, didn't really come as a surprise after walking in on them. His gaze flicked to said werewolf. Aside from Lydia, Isaac and Kira, Brett's behaviour was the most telling. He kept his distance and had flinched twice when Lori had touched him to get his attention because he had spaced out. _Again._  A penny for his thoughts, or maybe more. At this point, Stiles would pay any amount to figure out if he should walk out of the door and never come back. 

Swallowing around a lump in his throat, Stiles wrapped the blanket closer around himself trying his hardest not to yank it over his face and hide from the world. It did not help that Liam acted as if he had broken a rule by sleeping with Brett or how funny Jackson found the whole situation. Because it wasn't funny, and he had broken an unspoken rule. He didn't understand why. Sleeping with anybody but Theo had never been an option for him. Sure, Brett was attractive. It's perfectly fine to find someone else attractive. Just because he was in a relationship didn't mean he was suddenly blind to other attractive people. But Theo was- but  _why_ did he want to sleep with Brett all of the sudden? Why didn't he fucking stop? 

“You had enough on your hands,” Jordan replied, his gaze darting to Stiles for the fraction of a second. But before their eyes could meet, Jordan turned away again. It’s really hard to tell who of them was more embarrassed by this particular encounter. Stiles had gotten used to the werewolves figuring shit out through scents, but the last thing he had expected was Jordan out of all people catching him in the act. Then again, it was good it ended before it, well, ended. It shouldn't have gone so far. It shouldn't have- but it's just sex. Sex didn't hurt people. 

Stiles raised a hand to his pounding head. 

Jackson barked out a laugh. “It seems like Brett-“ Isaac slapped Jackson upside down the head.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Fucking hell. He needed to stop thinking about this and focus on the case. There were people dying. That's what was important right now. Nothing else. Everything that had happened tonight, he could solve sometime later. “To recap,” he muttered massaging his temple, “this is the third cheerleader who was murdered in a slightly unusual way since summer break started?”

“Slightly unusual?” Lori repeated turning to look at Stiles with raised brows. “The first choked on her molars, the second rotted, and the third boiled to death from the inside out. How is that only _slightly_ unusual?”

He made the mistake to turn in her direction, catching Brett's eye - and for the flicker of a second, the werewolf's eyes flashed yellow. Okay, he wasn't going to panic because of that. He was a little agitated. It didn't mean anything. All Stiles had to do was keep his cool. Everything was fine. Everything would work out perfect. Stiles waved his hand in the air, then let out a long breath. Perhaps he should get out of this corner at the very least. That would probably be a good idea. Just in case. Rather quickly, he freed himself from the blanket and got to his feet. Or he could excuse himself. Clear his head. Calm down. 

“Where are you going?” Lydia asked sharply.

Stiles didn’t stop walking. “I need coffee,” he replied walking over to the kitchen area. “Or more alcohol. I decide on the way.”

“You’re _nineteen_.”

“What?” Stiles whirled around narrowing his eyes at Jordan. “Do you want to lock me up? Fucking hell,” he cussed getting on his tiptoes to grab a mug from the top shelf. “This goddamn town. I swear.” Beacon Hills was the worst place on this planet. Seriously. He couldn't wait for the day to leave this hellhole. Why did people even come back here? “I’m so done with this place.” _So fucking done_. “I need a vacation. Maybe on the other side of the world.”

Mason laughed quietly.

“You really should have told us,” Isaac agreed pushing himself away from the door to show Stiles where the coffee was now stored. This night got better by the second. Now, he felt like a stranger in his own goddamn house. Why wouldn't he know where the coffee was stored? What the hell? He should know this. He should- stop panicking for a second. Perhaps the pack had rearranged things while he had been gone. It's entirely possible. After putting the coffee pad in the machine, Isaac wrapped an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulled him flat against his side, running his hand up and down his upper arm. What was most likely supposed to be a calming gesture felt more like being locked up. Kira, he noticed, was walking up and down in front of the kitchen hallways. 

Jordan flopped onto the couch next to Mason and Danny. “You were busy trying to find Stiles,” he replied dismissively gesturing in their direction.

“Still,” Brett said crossing his arms, “I could’ve asked Satomi. My pack would’ve supported the police.”

Stiles shifted out of Isaac’s half-embrace and opened the fridge to get some milk for his coffee. When he grabbed the sweetener next to it, he had to realise that it was empty. “For the love of-“ Frustrated he threw the small box in the bin underneath the sink. It didn't look like there was sugar around either, and he didn't want to search the kitchen again. It was bad enough that Isaac had needed to help him find the coffee. This was not his day, not even in the slightest. “I guess we need the victims’ addresses,” Stiles said hopping on the kitchen isle. If he kept the topic on the case, things should get calm themselves down. 

“He’s right,” Lydia agreed joining him on top. “Maybe we find something the police couldn’t.” She put a hand on his thigh with a bit more pressure than strictly necessary - and she kept it there.

“That’s why we need your help.” Jordan nodded running a hand over the nape of his neck. “We’re out of ideas.” Supernatural killers always left behind some form of evidence, sometimes it’s something as obvious as a scent. Other times it’s the fact that _nothing_ was left behind when there should be. These murders almost sounded like the victims had been cursed. Wait. _Cursed_? Why did his mind jump directly to cursed. Then again, people didn’t just start to rot or boil on their own. They usually didn’t loose their molars to choke on them either. Being cursed made the most sense. 

Stiles sipped on his coffee, scrunched up his face because of the missing sweetener. God, he needed sleep. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Brett and Isaac simultaneously push themselves off the wall they had been leaning against. A second later, the sound of a lock being opened was audible. There were only two other people who had a key to their house. John and Theo. But since his father was at the station – relaxed after Jordan had called and told him Stiles had been asleep – the person entering the house had to be Theo.

The rigid way Brett held himself confirmed his suspicion.

That's bad. That's really,  _really_ bad. There wasn't a word in the English language to describe how terribly bad the situation had become with his presence alone. Everything slipped through his fingers right at this very moment. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Theo asked, "An intervention?" Something thumped to the floor, then footfalls signalled his coming closer.

Lydia dug her fingers almost painfully in Stiles’ thigh, who curled his fingers around the mug. Isaac grabbed Brett by the upper arm. Dread pooled in his stomach, dread and fear and nerves. All day, he had hoped Theo would come back home. All fucking day, he had needed to see him. But now, Stiles was seconds away from choking on anxiety; terrified of how Theo might react, of how Theo might act towards him. Worry curled a tight fist around his throat. When he finally entered the living-kitchen area, the chimera suddenly stopped as if something rooted him to the ground. Stiles swallowed around the lump in his throat. It took him a second to free himself from Lydia's grip and to slip off the kitchen isle. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Theo whipped his head around. He looked different from when he had last seen him. He wore a stubble beard now. It made him look older, a lot less like a fuckboy, if Stiles was totally honest. Although Theo had always had broader shoulders than him, it seemed like he had spent quite some time in the gym during his absence. The white tee he wore clung to his arms and shoulders. He looked infuriatingly attractive.

Stiles had a hard time figuring out if he wanted to hug Theo or shove him off a cliff.

“Hey-“

The chimera stared at him for a second longer, then gold bled into his eyes.

“Don’t do it,” Isaac warned.

But Theo still didn’t know when to listen, much less when to be reasonable. He shifted his attention away from Stiles and snarled. It took a mere second for a response.

“Bruv, stow it!” Isaac snapped shoving the other werewolf away. But the second he had turned his back to Theo, the chimera made a dart for Brett. Liam and Lori jumped to their feet to try and grab him, however, both missed him by only a few inches. Jackson got of the couch as well, trying to reach Theo in time. But Brett had already pushed Isaac out of harm’s way, who slammed back first into Jackson.  

Stiles took a step forward. Lydia grabbed his wrist and yanked him back.

A moment later, Theo lunged, and his fist connected with Brett’s jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 | Second Edit 24.05.2018  
> -> Added a few things to make, uhm, clearer what happens in the next chapter, I guess. Hope it's a little more obvious now. :P


	3. Chapter 3

Theo hit hard. Brett’s head whipped to the side and he stumbled, braced a hand against the patio door's frame to keep himself upright. He looked stunned, almost like his world tipped off its axis. “I should kill you,” Theo snarled, eyes flashing yellow as he struck again, “for pushing it this far.” This time, his knuckles connected with Brett’s nose. “Consider yourself lucky to be Isaac’s friend.” To add insult to injury, Theo backhanded the werewolf before he turned away from him.  

“What the fuck?” Jackson asked attempting to step in his way.

Isaac pulled him away. “Let him,” he said, gaze fixed on Stiles. “Don’t get involved.”

Stiles could feel his heart speed up. This wasn’t good. In fact, this was horrible. It hadn’t meant to happen like this. It shouldn’t have happened like this. Theo had supposed to be home, he had supposed to be here. But he had lounged around godknowswhere doing godknowswhat instead of coming back. If he had come back-

Brett spat out a mouthful of blood, fingers carefully massaging his nose. “I’m sorry. I got...” He looked a little dazed, furrowing his brows. “I got distracted,” he admitted then slowly. His hand fell to his side, and he curled his fingers into a tight fist, knuckles white when his gaze darted to Stiles. Someone seemed to have put two and two together, and it raised his hackles.

Theo snarled at him. “You were supposed to make _sure_.”

“Make sure about what?” Mason inquired. He had gotten to his feet now, like the rest of the pack, and stood behind Jordan who still had a hand on Jackson’s arm, just in case. Something had gone wrong. Something had gone severely wrong and he hadn’t noticed or maybe he had but refused to believe it. His head was a goddamn mess. Fucking hell.

“And you,” Theo growled forcing Stiles’ attention to snap back to him, “what do you want?”

“I-“ Stiles swallowed nervously, backing away. Panic rolled over him like a tidal wave. He knew. Theo _knew_. That’s what had gone wrong. He shouldn’t have been so greedy. The others warned him, they told him this would be trickier than before. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have-“ He had to limit the damage. If he didn’t, this would all blow up in his face, and he had to stop that from happening. The last thing he could deal with right now was losing. The others counted on him. They just needed a little more time. “Please, I don’t-“ Oh, this was really bad.

“Cut the crap!” Theo bellowed crossing the distance almost instantly. His fingers curled into the collar of his shirt, and he slammed him against the kitchen isle. “I asked you what you want.”

Stiles raised both of his hands, biting back the noises of hurt trying to get past his lips. Theo did not hesitate to use his supernatural strength to create pain. His temper was as volatile as Stiles’ power, which could be a lethal thing to play with. “Theo,” he whispered, gently curling his fingers around the chimera’s wrist. Maybe this would help. He needed to calm him down for the chance to talk to him. “I’m so, so sorry. I thought-“ He needed to get into his head.

_What is happening?_

“Where is he?!” Theo hissed, freeing his arms without hesitation. A shadow flashed over his features, anger for sure. But his next action seemed almost hesitant in comparison. His fingers curled into Stiles’ hair close to his roots, loosely at first. The fraction of a second passed, then another and another, until Theo tightened his grip and yanked his head back. The expression on his face could only be described as pure fury as he leaned over him, eyes flashing a bright yellow.

“What the hell is he doing?” Liam asked sounding more alarmed than confused. “What are you _doing_?” A small commotion followed his words, but Stiles had no chance to see what was happening. Theo kept his grip tight and unrelenting. He didn’t see anything else than the white ceiling, the light overhead and Theo’s face.

_Why is he hurting me?_

“Please _-_ “ Stiles whispered grabbing the hand holding onto him. “Please, you’re hurting me.”

“Where is he?” The words were a hiss in his ear, and his grip tightened even further. The new pain at the back of his head completely overshadowed the ache in his lower back.

Stiles cried out. “Who are you talking about?”

“Where is who?” Corey demanded confused. “Would somebody please explain what is going on?”

Lydia clicked her tongue. “That’s not Stiles.”

“ _What_?” Liam sounded shocked. “But he smells like him, he looks like him, he-“

“Is it another skinwalker?” Mason asked sounding as if he pressed his fingers against his lips.

“No,” Isaac replied, “he'd smell rotten but he doesn’t. His scent is perfect.”

Stiles struggled against his hold. “It’s _me_ ,” he insisted, but Theo only pulled harder, forcing him to bend further back. “Please, you’re _hurting_ me.“

“Then tell me to let go,” Theo challenged twisting his hand in his hair. “Go on, _make me_.”

Stiles grit his teeth. The pain at the back of his head grew worse by the second. This guy acted more violent than he had deduced while searching his mind.

 _Whose mind_?

And he seemed certain to act on his suspicion. It had worked three times before. What was so different about this stupid kid? Just because he had magic powers himself? It should have been perfect. Flawless. How could it have gone so wrong? “Fine,” Stiles snapped looking straight into Theo’s eyes. “You’re hurting him, too.” The chimera let go of him only a moment later, and Stiles pressed his hands against the back of his head, whining. "How'd you figure it out?" What the hell did he see in this freak? He had Brett wrapped around his little finger, and he chose the other guy? Then again, he had to use a bit of magic himself to secure Brett wouldn't back out. Mason and his stupid grimoire were the perfect distraction. He hadn’t even noticed what the skin contact had really been for; and it’s not like he hadn’t wanted it. To be fair, he had done him a favour by lowering his inhibitions.

_What did I do?_

Isaac reached out for him, yanking him close by his shirt. Stiles almost lost his footing. “I will get you out of his body.”

_Another possession? When did that happen?_

Stiles pressed his eyes close. This was getting out of hand. He shouldn’t even be aware. The hexbags should keep him under. “I’m not some demon spawn.” He needed to let the others know what was happening. If the connection tore, his leverage was gone, and Theo wouldn’t hesitate to kill him as soon as he figured that out.

_He wouldn’t hurt me._

But he did. He had already done so. Theo had said he would wait for him to come back. Instead of doing it, he’d slept around. He hadn’t even come home until hours later. Until it was too late. Remember that. Remember the pain. It would distract him - it had to distract him - so it would keep the real Stiles under. He needed to give the guy something to chew on so he had more time; time that he desperately needed.

“You’re not Stiles either,” Lydia noted crossing her arms. Her lips were curled in a tight line. For such a handsome face, she could look particularly fierce.

“What do you want from him?” Brett asked moving forward until he stood next to Theo. These two certainly had an interesting dynamic. Although, still, it was hard to tell what Stiles saw in the chimera when he could have Brett Talbot. Who _wouldn’t_ want Brett Talbot? Then again, it seemed like he didn’t even know; and he was so in love with Theo. So much that, although he was hurt, he didn’t even think about hating his ex-boyfriend for fucking other people. If he were in his situation, he would flip his shit.

Stiles massaged the back of his head. The headache grew worse. “Don’t worry about him. He won’t suffer. Much.”

“I will tear you limb from limb,” Theo threatened starting towards him again, but Brett wrapped his arms around his shoulders, whispered something in his ear, Stiles couldn’t catch.

“Tone it down. Both of you!” Isaac ordered raising a hand. His temper rose quickly. He appeared to be seconds away from stomping his feet to give vent to his anger. It seemed like Theo and Brett’s incapability of getting along with each other had strained his patience to the limit. Even after the latter let go of a calmer looking Theo, Isaac kept his attention on him for a little while longer. “First things first, what are you?” Only hesitantly, he turned his head enough to watch him, too.

Stiles crossed his arms. “I’m a witch,” he answered honestly. Now, that they were absolutely sure about him not being Stiles, there’s no point in lying. After all, they were monitoring his heartbeat.

_I’m not a witch._

The words ricocheted in his mind like a bullet. Stiles had to be put under again. He appeared to become more and more conscious. If this was continuing, he might actually wake up on his own – and they couldn’t risk that. With him, they might achieve their goal. He could finally stop impersonating teenage girls.

“That doesn’t explain why you look and smell like him,” Liam pointed out in a very low voice. Despite leaving them with a lie, everyone here was incredibly protective of their alpha.

Mason, suddenly, grabbed his best friend’s shoulder. “They’re a doppelganger,” he realised sounding almost excited at this particular discovery. “I read it in one of the books Theo-“ The chimera turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. “I read it somewhere in a book,” he corrected then quietly avoiding Theo's glare all together.

“A what?” Danny asked crossing his arms and turning to look at his fellow human.

“A doppelganger,” Lori answered in Mason's stead. Stiles shifted his attention to the young girl. When it came to the supernatural world, she and her dear brother knew more than anybody else in this room. “It’s a copy of another living person. They’re linked; if that witch and their coven are doing it correctly, Stiles might not even realise that this isn’t happening to him because he’s in a trance somewhere.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. Her resemblance to her brother was striking. “It’s pretty advanced magic.”

_But I'm right here._

“Wait, wait- what?” Jordan demanded raising his brows. “You mean Stiles thinks this is real? That he’s with us?”

Brett tilted his head to one side. “Yeah, if it’s true, their consciousnesses are linked.” He folded his arms tightly over his chest. “Usually, the doppelganger knows everything about the person they are copying. But I get the feeling Stiles’ mind is better protected than these witches had anticipated.” A small note of amusement lingered in his tone; a sound that put Theo on edge, who bared his teeth with a snarl. “Or that witch would wear Stiles’ necklace and have brought back Kira’s belt.”

“That’s what tipped you off?” Stiles hissed, but he reminded himself to stay calm rather quickly. The last thing he wanted was to piss that chimera off any more than he had already done. “A fucking necklace?” He saw it around Stiles’ neck when they had found him by the side of a lake, dead to the world. After they had disposed of the other body, finding a girl by chance had suited them just fine – even more after they had found out that he happened to be something rather powerful; seemingly perfect for their purpose.

_Perfect for what?_

A necklace and a belt. He couldn’t believe accessories were fucking him over.

Isaac rolled his eyes. “It was the comment about the alcohol. Stiles doesn’t drink.”

“Because of his poor dad?” Stiles sneered, and the second he broke character truly for the first time, a severe blow to their link caught him off guard. It felt like someone yanked at the roots of his hair all over again. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to focus. “Hate to break it to you, but Stiles drank alcohol before.” Another vicious yank. He was fighting, now sure something was completely wrong. If Theo hadn’t attacked him, this wouldn’t have happened. Everything would have been fine. But the chimera physically going after him seemed to have triggered something in Stiles – and the accusations of the rest of the pack didn’t exactly help to soothe the state of uneasiness it had put his mind in.

“Not since the nogitsune possessed him,” Lydia said propping both her hands against the edge of the kitchen counter.

Kira mimicked her pose after walking to her side. “He’s afraid to lose control.”

How could that have slipped past his attention? That didn’t make any sense. This wasn’t the first time they had him be the doppelganger. He had gone through this three times before, he had _never_ missed any kind of information. Their minds were linked. There shouldn’t be a way for this random kid to lock his mind from being read; supernatural creature or no supernatural creature. The spell should have pierced every single barricade he had put up. “So, all of you knew.”

_Know what? What's going on?  
_

Another tug. Their link weakened. But it couldn’t break. Could it? This spell should be fool proof. This should be perfect. It had worked three times before. It had worked the whole night. Just how strong was his connection to Theo that despite them being separated, everything had gone haywire after his arrival? It begged the question which other details had slipped past his notice.

“Not all of us,” Isaac said lazily waving his hand around. “Theo was looking for the real Stiles. Kira and Lydia used your dressing and undressing to rummage through your backpack. I kept watch while Brett was pushing your boundaries.”

_I flirted with him._

“He wasn’t supposed to push him that far,” Theo growled.

_No. I wouldn’t have-_

Isaac groaned quietly and pressed the ball of his hand to his forehead. “Will you stay focused for _once_ in your life?”

“Okay, I’ll be honest here, I helped make this happen.” Stiles crossed his arms. With Kira relocated, there was an opening at his back. The pack had formed a half-circle in front of him. If he managed to cause a distraction, there was a chance to get out of here. His eyes darted towards Theo. His temper might be the perfect out. “Not that I had to do much.”

_I came too close._

“Fucking witches,” Brett snarled. Lori dashed to her brother’s side pressing a hand to his chest.

_I slept with Brett._

Stiles crossed his arms. “We both know I did you a favour.”

 _No._ I _didn’t._

“I would have never slept with Stiles knowing he still...“ Brett trailed off, fists trembling with the effort to keep them at his side.

_I would have never slept with Brett._

But his composure broke. He swiftly moved forwards, until Theo stepped in his way. “Don’t let that witch get into your head again,” he warned pushing the werewolf away from Stiles. “You’re smarter than this.” Lori opened her mouth to say something, but she stayed quiet. Brett simply stared down at him, brows slightly furrowed. It seemed like such an odd, peaceful moment between the two of them; not particularly usual considering the things he remembered – or rather, the things Stiles let him see. They were mostly very nasty. “Now,” Theo continued after a few moments of silent communication between the two, “how do we break this link?”

_This isn’t me._

Stiles pressed his hands to his head, screaming. His surroundings flickered. His home. His pack. A dark room. His pack again. The dark room.

His head was on fire.

“What is happening?” Lydia was kneeling in front of him. Then she vanished, and he was back in that dark room; this time, for longer. He was somewhere in a rundown building it seemed like. The only light came from a few candles on a set of stairs. A cellar room? Where was he? Voices dragged his focus back from where he was to where he had been.

“No, he cannot take control.”

 _This isn’t me_.

“Stiles.”

 _Theo_ , _this isn’t me._

“Stiles, I’ll come get you, do you hear me?”

 _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._ But his mouth didn’t work. He was screaming, and he wasn’t. He wanted to reach out, but he couldn’t.

“Now, I need you to wake up. Can you do that? Wake up.”

_Wake up._

 

Stiles came to with a scream. His head felt like someone detached his scalp from his skull. Crying out, he pressed his hands to his head. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep the noises down, away. He couldn’t let anybody hear him. If anybody did, they’d come back and put him under, put him back to sleep. He couldn’t go back to sleep. He couldn’t go back to this place where all these things happened; a place in which his driving force hadn’t been talking to Theo, a place where he had gone out of his way to sleep with Brett knowing that it could potentially destroy everything.

Gradually, the pain lessened, and his thoughts cleared. Stiles hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t slept with Brett. He hadn’t decided not to call Theo when he should have. Stiles gnashed his teeth. He still needed to make things right. To do that, he had to get out of here first. He got onto his stomach, then onto his knees. He felt dazed, bone-tired. Jesus fucking Christ, he was _so_ exhausted. Waking up from whatever this was felt like waking up from the longest sleep in the history of ever.

Okay. Now, on your feet.

Stiles pressed a hand against the wall for support, then drew it back like it scorched him. That’s not a wall. They were roots. Fucking _roots_. He thought the room had collapsed back when the Darach had had her reign of chaos. But somebody had rebuilt it. The witches, most likely. They were drawing their power from this thing, and they were using people to channel it. They were a coven. A small one. How many, four, five? No. four in total. Including the one impersonating him right now. Oh _god_ , his head. Not that. A step back. What did he know because _he_ knew about it? He was underneath the Nemeton. Nothing that had happened after he had fallen asleep at the lake had been real.

Stiles pressed his hands to the ground and pushed himself to his feet. These fucking roots could stay away, thank you very much. Luckily, the stairs weren’t too far because his first steps came close to the elegance of a fawn learning how to walk. It’s great. Fantastic even. He had to walk forever to get out of this forest and back to civilisation. His phone was gone, and there’s no way anybody would find him in here. Not when the Nemeton protected his location.

Climbing up the set of stairs seemed to be the equivalent of getting on top of a mountain. _Fun times_. Stiles reached upwards for the handles, but the door didn’t open. It didn’t even budge. Back down. His backpack. No. Wait. What did Isaac say? Lydia and Kira searched it. So, it was gone. Fucking hell. His thoughts were spinning. Stiles took a deep breath. He had to calm down. Concentrate. Seperate his own memories from whatever he thought he remembered but which hadn’t actually happened to him.

Another deep breath.

Stiles leaned against the wall opposite the Nemeton's roots. Okay. Think. The witch didn’t know about either the necklace nor the belt. He still had the belt which meant he had the katana. He could channel its power. Exhaustion aside, he needed to get out of this hellhole before the other witches came back to check on him. He also had to open a can of whoopass on this _bitch_ who had the audacity to parade around looking like him. Stiles freed the belt and let the katana snap into place. His fingertips ghosted over the blade. Maybe he should use it to cut through the lock. Performing magic felt hardly possible right now.

Up the stairs again.

Fucking hell.

Gnashing his teeth, Stiles wrapped his fingers around the handle and braced one arm against the door. If this didn’t work, he could still resort to magic. But he’d really rather not. Stiles licked his lips and took another deep breath. He reached back, then slammed the blade upwards. It fit neatly in-between the two doors.

“ _Woah_!”

Stiles blinked. “Liam?”

“Oh, thank _god_. Theo! Isaac! He’s over here!” Liam yelled to somewhere away from the doors. He knocked against the wood. “Step back. I think I can break it down.”

“Yeah, wait.” Stiles yanked the blade out, the movement made him almost topple over. Falling down the stairs was the last thing he needed right now. He grabbed the railing just in time to keep his balance before walking down. _Again_. “Okay!” Stiles called after having walked back to the wall opposite the staircase. “Go ahead.”

The doors quaked precariously, but they didn’t budge quite yet. He heard a fabulous curse lined with basically every insult the British had come up with over time – Stiles had never thought he would miss this Cockney accent so much – and the doors quaked a second time. The wood cracked audible. Another curse, this time clearly coming from Theo, then the doors broke apart. Stiles raised his arms to protect his face as small parts of the wood came loose and were flung through the room. The rest of the doors slammed against wall and railing. The candles had flickered out during that commotion, but he didn’t need them to see now that moonlight spilled into the small room.

Slowly, Stiles lowered his hands, stepping closer to the stairs. Isaac, Liam and Theo were looking back at him. Time seemed to stop for a little while, and Stiles couldn’t bring himself to do anything but stare. They were here. They’d come for him. After lying to them, after not contacting them for six weeks, they still saved his ass no question asked. The katana slipped through his fingers as he started towards the stairs. His foot caught on the lowest step causing him to trip. He bumped his elbow against the wood when he brought his hands up to protect his face yet again.

Isaac scoffed. “Graceful.”

Stiles didn’t have a response. He scrambled back to his feet and hurried up the last few steps. Theo grabbed him before he was properly out of the room, and Stiles lost his footing for a second time. But that hardly mattered. He fell into Theo’s arms curling his own around his shoulders and pressed his face into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m so, _so_ sorry,” he whispered in lieu of a greeting. There should be a better time and place for this, and yet, after what had happened, although it hadn’t really happened to him, Stiles couldn’t stop himself from explaining everything. He pulled back, cupping Theo’s cheeks. The stubble felt unfamiliar underneath his palms. “I’m sorry. I should’ve handled this better, but I didn’t know how. I shouldn’t have broken up with you. I should have never hurt you like this.” Theo grabbed his hands, squeezing his fingers almost reassuringly. “But I couldn’t drag you down with me. You loved me so much. You were okay with everything I did, and not only did I not deserve that kind of sympathy – I was toxic for you.” He ran his thumbs over Theo’s cheekbones. “I was deteriorating while you were trying to get better, and I had to do this alone. If you had known where I wanted to go-“

“We wouldn’t have let you go, you raspberry tart,” Isaac agreed slapping the back of his head.

“Seriously,” Liam added when Theo cradled Stiles against his chest again, “going to the Skinwalkers? Did you wanna die?”

Stiles let out a breath. “At that point I thought it’s better if I fail and never come back than ruin your lives.”

“Well, you ruined our bloody nerves with disappearing from the face of the earth like that,” Isaac accused poking his neck a couple of times for good measure. “Pretty sure Lydia’s gotten wrinkles, and she’s not happy about that.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered against Theo’s collarbone. “I was panicking left and right. Everything I wanted was to get better, so I just –“ He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I took the first opportunity I found. I couldn’t put you through the nogitsune a second time.”

“A wise man once said: You were running, and once you start, you don’t stop. You will always _be_ running.”

“Don’t quote that on me, Isaac,” Stiles muttered. “I know I fucked up.”

“Shedloads of fucked up,” Isaac agreed putting a hand on his shoulder. Theo stepped away to let him pull Stiles into an embrace. “I’m just glad you’re safe, luv.” He pressed his lips to the top of his head, the contact barely lasting longer than a heartbeat, before letting go.

Liam frowned at him. “You’re a dick,” he stated before hugging him as well.

Stiles sighed and leaned his forehead against Liam’s shoulder. He was ready for all the insults and prepared for every speech he would receive, although Lydia scared him a little bit. She was going to be furious. “I’m sorry,” he repeated squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m really sorry.”

“Just don’t do it ever again,” Isaac ordered running a hand over his face. “Don’t run. Never. Even if these hunters come, let them _come_. I can’t _believe_ you didn’t talk to us, you nutter. Did you think we wouldn’t have stood by your side?”

Stiles carefully pulled away from Liam, who shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was still frowning. “I know you would’ve,” he replied quietly pulling his shoulder up.

“I mean, as if you vanishing wasn’t stressful enough, after a while Theo started to go off the grid for days on end, too,” Isaac muttered, and Stiles turned around to look at the chimera. But Theo pointedly didn’t meet his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered what Brett had told that witch, that Theo had hooked up with other people. He wondered if that was true, or if it was just something Brett had said because of a whole other set of problem Stiles hadn’t realised he would have to deal with _ever._ How in the high heavens had it slipped past his notice that Brett had feelings for him? How fucking blind had he been? He always thought they didn’t like each other because their personalities clashed.

Stiles closed his eyes.

“Jackson explained to me why you left,” Theo stated quietly crossing his arms over his chest, still avoiding eye-contact like the plaque. “After Kira had told us where you’ve gone, and I... well, he pulled me aside and told me you had broken up with me for the same reason he had left Lydia; he saw himself a monster unworthy of love, and he didn’t want her to suffer because of him.” He swallowed visibly turning his head to stare at his shoes. “After that, I’ve been looking all over for you.” His voice became quieter. “I wanted to tell you that I don’t care if you drag me down.”

“That’s the reason I broke up with you,” Stiles admitted in a whisper. “Because I knew you wouldn’t care. I happen to care, though, and I couldn’t...” Almost helplessly, he raised his hands gesturing between the two of them.

Theo reached out for him, cupping his neck. “I know,” he replied, thumbs tracing his jawline.

“You know, guys, this is adorable and all,” Isaac piped up waving his hand behind him, “but I’m kinda worried Brett’s going to eviscerate that witch before we get the chance to do anything else, so, can you kiss and make up when I prevented that from happening? Because we’re, like, trying to help Theo with his temper, and it would kinda make a bad impression if one of his teachers lost the plot.”

Stiles opened his mouth, squinting up at the chimera. “What’s happening?”

“This is a long story,” Isaac told him, then clapped in his hands. “Chop-chop, my dears. We’ve got things to do, places to be.”

‘ _What_?’ Stiles mouthed again, but Theo only waved him off before taking his hand and pulling him along.


	4. Chapter 4

“You’ll approach this calmly?” Isaac asked following Stiles into the house.

Theo let out a small groan. “Yes.”

“I mean it, bruv,” Isaac warned.

“I promise, I won’t touch that witch.”

Stiles scrunched up his nose at the wall of anger he was greeted with as he entered. Not that he hadn’t expected that. But still. Perhaps he had learned to see it as nothing else than a source, even if an unstable one, Stiles continued to despise everything about it – starting with the sweet taste up to the tingling sensation when he drew power from it. At least he could control _when_ to feed off it now.

There was a heated discussion going on upstairs. One of the voices, the loudest, in fact, belonged to Lori telling someone, probably her brother, to calm down and that things would be handled the correct way. Stiles glanced over his shoulder locking eyes with an exasperated Isaac. Maybe he would never admit to it, but Stiles got the feeling that the guy was happier about his return than most because now he didn’t have to juggle being the alpha and being a friend any longer. Stiles knew how much that sucked.

When they entered the kitchen and living area, he spotted the witch immediately. It was an odd sensation looking at himself with the perspective of an outsider; especially since it's not even himself. Not really, at least. But Isaac had told the truth. The copy was perfect from the height and figure to the moles on his cheek. He couldn’t even blame them for trying to be one-hundred percent sure. There was a look of abject fear on her expression as she raised to her feet with much more elegance than Stiles could muster no matter how hard he'd try. She stood in the middle of the same symbol the Skinwalkers had imprisoned him in. So, it trapped just about everyone. Good to know.

“Stiles!” Mason hopped to his feet. “You’re back!”

Stiles pinched the back of his left hand, using his short nails and even going so far as to twist the skin between his fingers.

The witch's lips twitched. “This is awkward.”

Fury got the best of him. The anger tasted sweet on his tongue. “Teresa was it?” Stiles asked although he didn’t exactly wait for an answer. He didn’t care about her name. She could be the president of the United States for all he cared. Instead he walked over to the symbol on the ground and destroyed the red line with the tip of his shoe.

“Uhm...” Mason muttered uncertain.

“What?” Isaac asked.

Stiles quirked a brow, almost expecting the witch to run. But her gaze darted to Theo for a second before returning her attention to Stiles. It almost appeared as if she’d resigned herself to her fate. Stiles contemplated his options for a second. In the end, they both knew she wouldn’t get out of this without receiving a taste of what she deserved. “You like magic?” His hands curled into fists, knuckles turning white under the pressure.

“Stiles, no.” But the heat behind Isaac’s words was missing. He sounded nothing if not tired.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, and he meant it. He really _was_ sorry. Partially. Because he knew why Isaac reacted this way. But his skin was buzzing with the power he’d drawn from the anger in the room, and his bones vibrated with his very own. He opened his hands, palms up and fingers curled into claws as he moved them upwards in one swipe. The pain in his head returned instantly, this time for a different reason, however. Using emotions as a source was tricky business since his nogitsune did not properly connect to his Void but was rather a part of his body. When he used emotions to feed on, it was not only hard to tell how much power he actually gathered, turning them into magic felt like nails scraping over his skull. He told himself never to do it unless he had no other choice; a last line of defence. But, fucking hell, he had not fought six weeks to get better, to shake of the hunters, faked his death and reunite with his pack to have a fucking group of witches strutting along almost ruining _everything_.

Teresa was flung into the air, almost slamming headfirst into the ceiling. Although tempted to correct that, Stiles restrained himself from doing so.

“Is there a single member in this pack who does _not_ need a training course in anger management?” Isaac asked throwing his hands in the air. “Put her down!”

Stiles pursed his lips.

“I mean it,” Isaac warned.

_Fine_. Stiles shifted his stance and pushed his hands forward. “Fuck off.” A wave of energy left his hands, hitting the witch straight in the chest. It sent her flying through the still open patio door. She let out a scream, which could almost compete with Lydia’s in its pitch. With the flick of his wrist, Stiles dropped her into the pool.

Isaac sighed. “Not what I meant.”

“No?”

He pointed at him. “ _You_ -“ But he did not continue with whatever he intended to say. “Your nose is bleeding,” Isaac informed him before hurrying outside to go the witch muttering to himself.

Theo stepped around him. “Are you okay?” He asked, carefully placing his thumb on and his index finger underneath his chin to tip his head a little back and to the side.

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered wiping the blood away with his sleeve. His headache was mostly gone as well. “It can happen when I use an unstable source or take too much. Nothing to worry about.” The corner of his mouth flicked upwards for the tiniest of smiles. But Theo didn’t appear to be thrilled about this information. Stiles wasn’t about to blame him. Still, he knew how much his body could handle without suffering any form of consequences; and sometimes he had to take that risk – like when he had shifted into this body or when he had jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Nothing to worry about?” Theo frowned and pulled his hand back to fold his arms over his chest.  

Mason cleared his throat. “Are you two-“

“Stiles!” Lydia squealed rushing towards him without the flicker of hesitation. She hurtled into him, flinging her arms around his neck. “It’s you.” They shuffled backwards a little, until Stiles bumped into Theo, who put his hands on his waist for support. “It’s really you,” she whispered holding onto him almost like she was about to drown.

Danny and Jackson stood behind her with matching relieved expressions. “Who screamed?” The latter asked after a few seconds.

“The witch,” Liam muttered watching Lydia squeezing Stiles’ half to death.

“Where is she?” Danny inquired, brow arched.

Mason and Corey pointed towards the swimming pool wordlessly.

Lydia let go of Stiles. She was crying again, and he felt horrible for somewhat being responsible for both times. When he opened his mouth for an apology, she boxed his shoulder. “ _Ow_ ,” he muttered rubbing his abused skin. He expected her to be angry but the force behind her punch took him by surprise anyway.

“You deserve that,” Theo told him patting his waist.

Stiles pulled a face. “It still hurts,” he muttered before slinking past Lydia to greet Jackson and Danny, who both hugged him tightly. Mason used the chance to do the same, swaying Stiles from side to side before allowing his boyfriend to welcome him back as well.

“Will you behave?” Isaac asked although his tone left no place for interpretation. “They locked Brett up. I’ll lock you up, too.”

Stiles raised both of his hands. “I’ll behave.” Hopefully. It really depended on the stupid shit Teresa decided to do or say. He was not above whacking her stupid ass around. She’d deserve everything bad coming her way for even thinking she could ruin his pack just because of her crush on Brett.

Narrowing his eyes, Isaac shoved the witch back into the living room. Her clothes were dripping with water, and she did look anything but happy. At least she was smart enough not to struggle against the werewolf’s grip. Isaac directed her back to the middle of the symbol beckoning Mason over with his free hand. Without much preamble, he pulled red chalk out of the pocket of his pants correcting where water had ruined the lines. When Isaac had stepped out, he closed it off fully.

As if to check, Teresa flicked a few droplets towards the inner triangle. They hit an invisible wall leaving the lines untouched. She sighed and flopped to the ground.

“What did he _do_?” Jackson asked raising a hand.

Isaac walked back over to them – Mason launched into an explanation rich with gestures – and poked Stiles’ forehead. He could feel how he grappled with his annoyance, especially when Stiles grinned almost sheepishly at him. With an exasperated noise in the back of his throat, Isaac cupped his neck. “You have no idea how glad I am that you are home,” he muttered before pressing their foreheads together.

Stiles closed his eyes, chuckling quietly. “You’re doing a great job, freezer boy,” he whispered and wrapped his arms around Isaac’s shoulders. It had always sounded so stupid when people said, ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’. But they might have been right. Being away for this long, Stiles had realised just how important all of them were; and perhaps Isaac had come to the same conclusion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” It’s true. Without his assistance, everything around here would’ve crashed and burned. Maybe he didn’t see it, or believed it, for that matter, but he was the best second in command Stiles could’ve hoped for.

Isaac huffed out a breath. “I’m resigning,” he muttered sounding exhausted.

Stiles rubbed the nape of his neck laughing quietly. “How about you go to sleep. You look like death.”

“Like you look any better,” Jackson muttered almost offended.

Isaac, however, pulled back looking at him critically. Stiles squeezed his cheeks. “I’m not going to do anything.”

 

Stiles barely heard the silent footfalls. Under different circumstances, he might not have woken up because of them since he was in his own home. But his body and brain had been conditioned over the last six weeks to spot any change in his environment, no matter how small. Although he knew he was home, his muscles tensed, and his heart sped up. He noticed the small ray of sunlight creeping through his curtains, saw that his doppelganger was still fast asleep leaning against the invisible wall of her prison. His hand slipped underneath the pillow, feeling for Kira’s belt hidden underneath it. _Just in case_.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Theo whispered crouching down in front of the couch.

Stiles shook his head quietly, then rolled onto his side. “It’s not you who scared me.” He wondered what time it was or at what time he had lost the fight against his exhaustion. Stiles felt like he had slept for hours, but that might only be because he usually had never woken up after the sun had risen since he had left the Skinwalkers.

Theo stayed silent after that. Most of his face was covered by shadows which made it hard to discern what he was currently thinking about. But Stiles noticed the absence of his eyes on him. A heavy silence weighed him down instead. Words left unsaid dragged sharp lines on his body. Theo made a small noise in the back of his throat and put his hand on Stiles’ cheek. The touch was light. A shudder ran down his spine as Theo’s fingertips trailed his cheekbone up to his ear, pushing his hair out of his face. Before he could pull his hand away after that, Stiles grabbed it, squeezed his fingers tightly.

“Your dad and Melissa are here.”

“Where?” Stiles asked propping himself up on one elbow.

Theo nodded in the direction of the stairs. “My room. They came home with Jordan and Kira.”

Stiles hadn’t even heard. He wished they had woken him up. At least partially. But seeing that he had been asleep, they might have gone upstairs to wait for a reunion when everyone was more awake than this. After all, it couldn’t be far in the day.

With a small sigh, Theo pushed the pillow away. His brows furrowed when he spotted the belt but decided not to say anything about it. Instead he put it next to him when he sat down. Biting the inside of his cheek, he looked down at his hands curling them into fists, then straightening his fingers a couple of times in a row. He was working up a nerve to say something, and Stiles had a hunch what that might be. They had to talk about it eventually, especially since it was out in the open. They both knew that he remembered what Teresa had learned and continuously used against him over and over again to keep his mind occupied. He wondered how long he would have believed everything was real if Theo hadn’t come home.

Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, then used Theo’s thigh as a pillow. “Don’t,” he muttered rolling onto his back to look up at him.

Theo released a long breath. “We have to talk about it.”

“No, we don’t.” Not now, at least.

“Stiles-“ His voice was quiet, but Theo sounded exasperated. “I fucked other people,” he reminded him placing his hand at the top of his head, thumb drawing small circles on his temple. “This is something we should address.” His shoulders slumped, and he pressed his free hand against his forehead.

Stiles squeezed his hand. “Did you sleep with someone else while we were together?”

Theo’s head snapped up, and he furrowed his brows. “ _No._ ”

“Did you care for any of the people you slept with?”

“What? No, I don-“

Stiles made a dismissive gesture. “Then there is nothing else to talk about.” It didn’t matter that it hurt. Because, truth be told, it did. It hurt knowing that Theo had slept with other people. But Stiles had broken up with him. That’s a fact. Even if Theo had fallen in love with someone else while he had been gone, it would’ve been his right, and Stiles would’ve been in no position to make a fuss about it. The only thing he could’ve done was to accept it and move on. He hated himself for not realising that something was wrong earlier, that he believed, even if only for a short while, that he had wanted to sleep with Brett. He should’ve been able to distinguish his thoughts from that of the witch. But then again, the purpose of the spell was to keep him under, so he didn’t notice what they were doing to his body; and she preyed on his pain, used it for her advantage.

After two possessions, he should’ve been smarter than this. Although, he wouldn’t have been able to change anything. It still would have happened the exact same way as it had happened. The only difference, Stiles wouldn’t have thought and felt- could he really feel guilty for something he hadn’t even done? But it was his fault. He should’ve shifted somewhere else. He should’ve make sure to hide better.

“There is.”

“ _Theo_.”

“No, please.” Theo tugged at his hand, and Stiles let go of it. “I’m still very much in love with your stupid face, you know?” As he opened his mouth, Theo covered it with his hand huffing out a breath. “While you were gone, I realised something else – or rather, Brett did.” Stiles quirked his brows. Theo rolled his eyes. “I know, ironic. Can you laugh about that later?” Although the question was clearly rhetorical, Stiles nodded his head. He knew this was serious, yet for the first time since he had reunited with Theo, it seemed like everything could be fine between them. “When Kira had finally budged and told us who you had gone to for help, I lost it. I’m not going to beat around the bush. My first instinct was to kill her because she let you run to your death. She gave you her katana instead of stopping you.”

Stiles freed his mouth. “A little more faith perhaps?”

Theo shook his head, narrowed his eyes. “Void cannot be controlled. You can learn how to control your _power_. But ultimately, you are conditioned to protect your pack. No matter the cost. You said it yourself, losing a pack member is like losing a limb, right?” He ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair before placing two underneath his chin again, tipping his head back ever so slightly. “It’s worse for you, and you should know that. Going to the Skinwalkers was a suicide mission.”

“I didn’t think-“

“As per usual when you try to protect us.”

Stiles frowned, then sighed. “You didn’t kill Kira.”

“Because Isaac and Liam knocked me out and locked me up.” Theo offered him a tight-lipped smile. “Well, after that incident, Isaac as well as Kira stepped in because Lydia and the others were out of sorts with me. To be useful, I went looking for you. But whenever I didn’t find you, I was in a terrible headspace. I always got so angry and I…” He took a deep breath covering his eyes with his free hand. Stiles pulled it away, squeezing his fingers gently. “I hooked up with the first person who had any sort of similarities with you, just so that I could pretend-“ He stopped again. Although he told Theo that he didn’t blame him, Stiles didn’t want to hear anything about it. Thinking about it hurt, and he didn’t want to know why or how many people he had fucked. But Stiles didn’t interrupt him. Theo needed to get this off his chest, and he let him do that. In the end, it’s still his own fault. “Brett caught me doing my walk of shame and flipped his shit. He was beside himself with fury.” Theo drew his eyebrows in, gaze directed on his fingers at Stiles’ chin. “I’ve never seen him like that. He dragged my ass home, told Isaac everything about it and we got in a nasty fight. I was ready to pack my things and go. Brett stopped me, telling me that-“ He pressed his lips in a thin line and broke off.

Stiles reached out for him, running his fingertips along his hairline until he cupped his cheek. “Told you what?”

“That I wasn’t allowed to act like a little bitch because I was loved by someone who’d rather die than risk me getting hurt.” Theo clenched his teeth for a few heartbeats, pressed his eyes close. He looked so vulnerable, so small, and it broke Stiles’ heart to see him like that. “Then he told me we need to learn how to live for each other or we’ll never end up with our happily ever after.”

Brett said that. The guy who vowed not to have any relationship involving more commitment than friendship before graduating college had given Theo this advice? The guy who had looked horrified at the sheer notion of sleeping with the same person for the rest of his life had gone out of his way to give advice to a person he disliked with every fibre of his body? Stiles couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It sounded so bizarre, he had a hard time thinking Theo just made this story up. And why would he? It’s not like he’d miss a chance to excoriate Brett; no matter what he had done. With an inaudible sigh, Stiles tabbed his index finger against Theo’s temple. “Sounds like a smart thing to say.” Even more for someone who had feelings for the same person. Despite all the shit-talking he had done in the past, Brett was helping Theo. He already dreaded the conversation he would have to have with the other werewolf eventually. Stiles didn’t want to lose him as a friend, but he couldn’t just let this slip into the night without acknowledging it. Although Brett might not know that he was aware of his feelings, it would still be unfair to keep pretending like he didn’t.

“I still hate his guts.”

Stiles let out a breathless laugh, but fell silent rather quickly. “Why did you never tell me?”

Theo raised his brows. “What?”

“You know I’m incapable of realising someone likes me more than friends even if they’d write me a love song,” Stiles uttered flicking his forehead. After all, he sometimes couldn’t believe Theo loved him as much as he did. “I mean, instead of telling me you tested my patience by having jealous fits.” And not small ones. If Brett wasn't a red flag for Theo, Stiles had no clue what would be. Although it made a little more sense now that he knew the reason for that, he still didn’t understand why Theo risked causing a fight over and over again.

“I guess, I thought that if you knew, maybe you'd see that he’s better for you,” he replied, voice steadily growing quieter.

With a sigh, Stiles sat up. This answer didn’t quite come as a huge surprise. Admittedly, he was a bit disappointed that Theo had this little faith in his love for him. Or perhaps that wasn’t even the problem. Maybe Theo was too insecure about himself that he thought Stiles would jump ship as soon as someone better came a long; which sounded ridiculous for everyone who didn’t know Theo the way he did because the chimera acted like he owned the world. “You know,” Stiles breathed scooting closer until the small of his back touched Theo’s thigh, “love doesn’t work that way.”

“Isaac told me.”

“Buy you didn’t listen, did you?” Almost sheepishly, Theo grinned at him, and that was kind of all the answer Stiles had expected. Rolling his eyes, he placed a hand at the nape of his neck. “I love you. More than you give me credit for,” Stiles breathed leaning in until they were inches apart. “You are the only one who infuriates me while simultaneously managing to make me the happiest person in this universe.” Theo moved the tiniest bit closer, his stubble unusual against his skin. But Stiles tightened his hold on his neck. “I need you to understand that.”

“I do.” Warm breath ghosted over his lips and chin.

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. “Promise me.”

“I do,” Theo repeated, and when he finally did kiss him, Stiles thought it might be possible for a person to melt from happiness. Because if that’s the case, he was pretty sure he’s seconds away from becoming a puddle on the floor. Theo’s lips dragged against his in a way that made his head spin, and he groaned as his hand snuck under his shirt, securely finding its place on his waist. Theo used this opportunity to slip his tongue over Stiles’ bottom lip. Nothing said ‘I miss you’ like this kiss, like the way they pushed against each other, the way they hold onto each other. Stiles curled his fingers against the nape of his neck, pulling him closer although closer wasn’t quite possible unless he managed to crawl inside of him. Theo broke the kiss, making him chase his lips. A quiet laugh vibrated through the air around them. “Your-“

Stiles pouted and scrambled onto his lap without much preamble, pressing their mouths together; whatever Theo had wanted to say was effectively cut off with that. They would have time for talking. They could continue this conversation in an hour or two or tomorrow, a few days. Right now, however, Stiles really, _really_ did not want to waste any breath on anything other than kissing that pain in the ass who turned out to be the love of his life. He cupped Theo’s jaw, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he opened his mouth to say something yet again. The chimera groaned quietly, clenching and unclenching his fists at Stiles’ back. He pressed his hips down involuntarily, seeking as much contact as possible. The belt buckle pressed against his pubic bone. This was not great. That thing needed to go.

“Nno-“ Theo uttered almost a little startled. “Babe-“

Rolling his eyes, Stiles pulled back. “What?”

“Do we have to have a talk?”

Stiles whipped his head around, heart racing. “Hey Dad.” He opted for a little awkward wave, but his father pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Melissa.” The woman laughed quietly looking more amused by the whole situation than her partner which did not quite come as a surprise. To be honest, Stiles would bet on his father living in denial about the depth of Theo and his relationship. He knew they were together – he’d found that out by himself after all – but he probably pretended the two hadn’t even gotten to first base yet. Which was kind of funny and actually pretty adorable. Stiles hadn’t meant to destroy his illusion like that. Perhaps he should get off Theo’s lap to make it a easier on him. But as he made a move to do just that, Theo suddenly grabbed his thighs.

_Oh_.

That happened a little faster than Stiles had anticipated.

John sighed the sigh of the defeated. “I’m too young to be a grandfather.”

_Of course_. “Yeah, and I’m too young to be a parent,” Stiles uttered glancing at Theo, who had his eyes closed like that would somehow make everything go away. But they kind of had to get some form of contraception in case of sex happening because this body wasn’t exactly the result of a spell. This was a shift. He didn’t only look like a girl on the outside, he _was_ female in every sense of the word.

Melissa cackled. “If you have sex, you should be old enough for a child.”

“But I don’t have sex,” Stiles shot back snapping his fingers and pointed at her. His father made a sound he could neither identify nor analyse. Melissa did not even pretend to look anything close to convinced, was, however, nice enough to stay quiet. “Can we hug now?” He asked directing the question more at Theo than anyone, although he looked at John and Melissa. “I really don’t enjoy this conversation.” He grinned, and Theo pulled his hands back opening one eye, then the other. Before he could change his mind, Stiles slipped off his lap. Not wasting any time, he hurried across the room, met his father halfway and flung himself into his arms. Melissa decided against waiting this time, wrapping her arms tightly but somewhat awkwardly around both of them instead.

“Theo,” John called over his head.

“Yes… Sir?” Oh _dear_ , could he sound any more submissive if he tried?

“Hereby I’ll allow you to lock my son up with whatever means necessary if he makes any mention of leaving again.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Stiles complained slipping out of the hugs, “don’t joke about that. He’ll do it.”

“I’m counting on that.”

The shit-eating grin spreading over his boyfriend’s lips had Stiles rolling his eyes again. Although they weren’t exactly seeing eye to eye – mostly because Theo was too afraid to even meet his father’s gaze or shifted into a goddamn wolf before meeting him – making sure Stiles would never do anything stupid was pretty high on both of their agendas. Well, he should probably be glad about them bonding, even if he hated the reason. “I’d get you  something but I don’t actually know what were having other than coffee, I guess,” Stiles said looking over his shoulder. “We _do_ have coffee, don’t we?”

Theo tugged at the blanket partially thrown over his lap. “You and Isaac are insufferable without your coffee in the morning,” he noted then shaking his head. “Before we don’t have coffee, we’ll probably starve.”

“Don’t say that in front of them.”

John rolled his eyes. “Water is fine. I don’t think my heart can stomach any more caffeine.”

Melissa clapped his shoulder. “I’m fine, thank you.”

While the two settled on the couch, Stiles hurried to the fridge internally laughing to himself. The thing about Theo and his father amused him more than it frustrated him. It’s just, John came round with all of his stern big, bad father behaviour in order to scare Theo, which worked, god bless, the guy was terrified of the sheriff. But the truth was that John _liked_ Theo. He liked him for protecting his son. He appreciated his attempts at getting better. He liked him for making Stiles happy. Although, sometimes, Stiles wondered why his father had never done the same with Malia. Because she was a girl? Or, perhaps, even his father had noticed that this relationship couldn’t at all be compared to the one he had with Malia. Maybe it scared his father a little.

When he was halfway across the room, the front door flew opened with a bang. Stiles stumbled to a halt. Teresa’s coven, he remembered to have seen their faces flickering through his memories, walked briskly towards him. The guy with a nose that looked like it had been broken at least three times, and the girl with the violet hair both carried something that had a suspicious resemblance to a filled sock. From what intel he had managed to gather, the members of the coven weren’t older than him, but he had expected a bit more creativity when it came down to what they’d built their hexbags out of. The chick appearing to be the leader of the small group quickened her pace. Stiles contemplated turning around to run for the fraction of a second, but he couldn’t leave his pack.

“Theo-“

“Don’t even try,” the witch with the violet hair told him. What was her name? Amanda? Anna? Anette? He couldn’t remember. “They’ll sleep for a while.” She waved her hand in the direction of the couch, and true enough, his father, Melissa and Theo were just sitting there stuck, but not frozen, in their last position. While the latter had his gaze fixed on Stiles, eyes open, lips slightly parted, but not looking _at_ him. Melissa and his father wore similar expression, appearing to be asleep with their eyes open.

There was a commotion upstairs. “Brandon,” Teresa said, sounding surprisingly awake. Stiles had completely forgotten she was even here. “His pack.”

Brandon turned around and threw his own hexbag towards the stairs. Someone hurried down the steps. “Stiles?” It was Isaac. From where he stood, he had a perfect view of the bottom of the stairs, and he watched the hexbag slide towards them, coming to a stop bumping against the wood.

“Isaac, _wait_!” Stiles yelled. Although he didn’t know what the witches had done, he doubted it would end nice. A second later, it turned out he was right. Isaac connected with _something_. Upon touched, the invisible wall flashed an angry red and hurled the werewolf backwards. He slammed into Brett, who had no chance at catching him.

“Damn,” Brandon said laughing. “I felt that.”

Stiles grit his teeth. Piece of _shit_.   

“This is nothing personal,” Queen Witch announced grabbing his wrist, and his attention snapped back to her.

Stiles bared his teeth. “You bitch.”

“We should go,” Violet Hair announced. She continued to look back and forth between the stairs and Theo, her eyebrows drawn in. Nervously, she crossed and uncrossed her arm shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her fingers tightened around the sock in her left hand, knuckles turning white.

“We’re doing this here.”

Lydia had pushed past Isaac and Brett in the meantime. Her instincts seemed to tell her to be wary, because she reached out a hand. Again, the invisible wall flashed a bright red not letting her pass.

Stiles grabbed Caroline’s hand, trying to force her fingers away from his skin.

“Caroline, let me out!” Teresa urged in a high-pitched voice, “We can’t do this here. Not with his lapdog this close.”

“You fucked it up.” She yanked Stiles closer, now his other wrist as well. “I’m done cleaning up after you. When this is done, you’re _out_.” Her fingernails dug deep into his skin. She was strong for a human, but not strong enough to be considered something else. Her bright green eyes locked with his, and only a moment later, her lips started moving in indistinguishable whispers. The situation had to be really dire if Stiles rather fought a supernatural creature. Then he would at least have a means to fight back. But he couldn’t draw power from a witch because, technically, they weren’t supernatural. Similar to him, they drew their magic from something else.

Heat crept up his legs, his spine. It enveloped his whole body.  

“Caroline!” Teresa yelled, her voice muffled like he was speaking through pillows. Caroline only nodded her head, and Brandon passed them with a dark expression.

“No,” Stiles whispered trying but failing to free himself. He could feel the heat getting worse as whatever power she was channelling through him was unfurling. It vibrated in his bones, his skin. It felt different from everything Stiles had ever used before – and it was a lot. “No, please. Stop it.”

It was _too_ much.

Isaac and Brett were simultaneously hammering away on the invisible wall.

Stiles tried to yank his arms free, but Caroline tightened her grip even further, nails burying deeper into his wrists. “You don’t know what you’re doing!” Stiles tried to reason, but the witch didn’t appear like she even heart him. Violet Hair on the other hand inched a few steps away from them. “Let go of me! _Let go of me_!” His voice cracked as a sob rocked through his body.

He could smell dirt in the air, taste it on his tongue.

 

The energy started to burn him from the inside. He could taste blood mingled with soil. His bones felt like they were breaking all over again. “I’m begging you-“ He struggled against Caroline's hold, harder and harder. Without any success. She twisted his wrists and the combined pain drove him to his knees, eliciting a cry of pain. His strength dwindled, slowly. There was blood in his mouth. “Theo!” He screamed as panic took hold. “You have to let me go, please. _Please_.”

He didn't know what's happening.

Lydia screamed.

“ _Theo!_ ”

The ground underneath his feet started shaking. There was no lead up to it. First, there was nothing and within a heartbeat they were in the middle of an earthquake. Glass clinked, shattered. Furniture scratched over the ground. Panicked voices echoed in the air. Someone was crying out. Stiles saw one of Kira’s flower pots break apart on the ground. Violet Hair yelped, jumped away from the shards, water and flowers spilling out at their feet. Something heavy crashed to the floor overhead, followed by many other thuds.

His muscles felt as if someone was tearing him apart from the inside.

Caroline widened her eyes, and, in the blink of an eye, she dropped to the floor. Eyes wide. Lips parted mid-word. Her head bent in an impossible angle. Dead.

Someone screamed in fear.

He pressed his hands to the cool tiles, watching as Theo made short work of Violet Hair. She dropped to the floor just like Caroline had done. The second the light had left her eyes, the hexbag’s magic stopped. Melissa and John woke up getting to their feet. Theo didn’t even spare them a glance as he turned, his expression telling Stiles everything he needed to know. He’d kill the other witches. He’d kill all of them. He couldn’t let that happen. “Theo, it hurts. It _hurts._ “ He begged, his plea cut off as he started coughing up blood.

“Oh my god!” Melissa and John stumbled over to him, but Theo was faster. He dropped to his knees wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Stiles pressed one hand to the still shaking ground, clawed the fingers of the other into Theo’s shirt as he threw up blood. Ache scorched his body and bones. His skin burned, his throat stung.

Someone pulled his hair back.

“What is happening to him?” Lydia demanded, her voice full of panic and words accompanied by the drumming of fists against the barrier separating them.

Stiles wished he could answer, but he couldn’t. The Skinwalkers had taught him how to control. Breathe. He had to breathe, slow down his heartbeat, his pulse. _If you control your body, you can control your power_. But breathing wasn’t quite easy when he convulsed in pain every time he threw up. When he swallowed or threw up, it’s like someone forced sandpaper down his throat. Control your body, control the power. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut trying to concentrate on the hand running soothingly up and down his back.

“Kiddo-“

“I- I don't know what's happening,” Stiles forced out between ragged breaths, through gritted teeth. His ribs felt like they were about to crack, but he continued to breathe in and out slowly and deliberately. Finally, the heat enveloping his body crept down his arms and legs, vanishing into the ground. Concurrently with this, the earthquake lessened, and Stiles stopped coughing up blood. He curled his fingers around the arm wrapped around his shoulders continuing to try and regulate his breathing as best as he could.

Hands cupped his cheeks, and Stiles forced his eyes open although being confronted with the fear in his father’s eyes was the last thing he could handle right now. But John did his best to stay in control of his emotions. However, when they locked eyes, he pulled him out of Theo’s grip and into his arms. The hand on his back didn’t disappear. Theo, on the other hand, raised to his feet. He noticed blood splattered on his jeans, saw him step over Caroline’s body without acknowledging it and crossed the entrance to crush the hexbag under his foot. Isaac, who was about to slam his shoulder into the barrier, careened straight into him.

“What the _fuck_ just happened?” Count on Jackson to keep it real. He piled into the room following the others looking at the damage the earthquake had done.

Mason rubbed his upper arm, gaze locked onto the blood right next to John’s leg. “Was that… you?”

Theo crouched down behind him again, and Stiles freed himself from his father’s embrace. “I couldn’t control it,” he whispered putting a hand on his shoulder to get to his feet. His legs were a little shaky, but he managed to stay upright with Theo’s help. “I couldn't- she tried to channel power through me.” Using his sleeve, he tried to get rid of the blood underneath his nose. He still tasted it on his tongue, on his lips.

Lydia suddenly appeared at his side carrying a wet towel. “Are you okay?” Her voice was so quiet, he barely heard what she asked him. Carefully, she started cleaning the blood off his face, the wet fabric placed over two fingers.

Stiles nodded his head slowly. “I’m fine.” Most of those surrounding him responded to his statement with crossed arms and raised brows. Theo squeezed his waist in warning. “Really,” he assured frowning as Lydia scrubbed at a spot beside his nose. “I’m okay. I just- would you _stop_!” Ignoring the affronted expression crossing her features, Stiles grabbed her wrist. Lydia breathed in deep, her shoulders shivering, lips parting for a response. A second passed but before she could say anything, he simply wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Lydia fell against him, sobbing and clawing her fingers into his shirt. “Shh,” he rubbed a hand up and down her back, and she shuddered against him. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Melissa leading John back to the couch, who looked seconds away from having a nervous breakdown.

Theo squeezed his waist before pulling his hand away. Stiles watched him walk to the fridge snatching a bottle of water. He acted weirdly detached from everything. His knuckles turned white as he curled his fingers around the bottle, and it crunched precariously in his grip. He managed to give it to Melissa without crushing it, however.

“We should find the other witches,” Kira suggested quietly. “Before they come back.”

Stiles glanced over Lydia’s shoulder. Brandon and Teresa had most likely used the distraction to make a break for it. A cowardly move to simply leave behind the rest of their Coven, but maybe it was better this way. Stiles didn’t want Theo to kill any more of them. He nodded. “Your katana is on the couch.”

“If we come back and you’re _gone..._ ” Isaac warned leaving the rest of the sentence hanging.

Stiles shook his head. “I won’t leave again.”

Brett bit the inside of his bottom lip, looking for a second as if he wanted to say something but decided against it in the end. When he turned, Stiles swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Brett,” he called, and the werewolf froze in his position, shoulders forming a tense line. “I’m sorry _.” I’m sorry the witch did this to you. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’m sorry I don’t want to lose you as a friend._ All this and more, Stiles would like to tell him. Just so he knew, to wipe the guilt and pain off his face which he hid so poorly.

After a deep breath, Brett sent him a weary smile. “It’s not your fault.” His blue eyes flitted to a spot somewhere behind him. “You should-“ He cleared his throat glancing at Isaac who clapped his shoulder as he passed him. “You should take care of your boyfriend. He doesn’t look so good.”

Stiles glanced to the couch, and Melissa pointed to the ceiling.

Lydia let go of him, while the pack was piling out of the patio door. Liam looked at Stiles with furrowed brows, only leaving after he gestured him to do so. Mason kissed Corey before the chimera turned to follow Lori and Liam. Isaac was already outside indoctrinating the group as Kira reached them struggling with her belt. Jordan didn’t follow the other teenagers but watched his brother as he stood leaning against the doorframe. Danny wrapped an arm around Lydia, knowing that as a human, he would only hinder the search. “Go,” he said nodding in the direction of the stairs.  

Stiles glanced at his father, who offered him a tried smile. Yeah, that was probably a lot to chew on right now. He was impressed Isaac hold it together as much as he currently did. Even Danny had looked slightly shaken up while hugging Lydia. When he passed the contents of the hexbag, he made a mental note. They probably should check how these things were made, and what they could do against them. Upstairs, the only damage he spotted at first were two pictures which had fallen to the floor. Probably because that’s everything that could have been damaged. Stiles rubbed his forehead, trying to massage a bit of the lingering headache away. A moment later, he pushed the door to Theo’s room open – now, that things were like they used to be between them, the rule about not entering his bedroom without being allowed in didn’t apply to him anymore.

Theo didn’t even look over his shoulder when the door clicked shut. Instead he continued to shove a variety of books back onto the only shelf he owned. Which was one item of furniture more than he’d had before Stiles had left for the Skinwalkers. The room was a mess, and the most part of it couldn’t exactly be contributed to the earthquake. Maps were strewn over the floor, most of them seemed to be from California, clothes had been thrown over the dresser, a drawer partially opened. Two jackets hung on top of each other on the back of the desk chair. The corresponding desk was a mess of papers, pens and empty water bottles. One of the lightbulbs didn’t work. The bed was made, but that could probably be attributed to Melissa. Apropos… “Dude, you let my dad sleep in this chaos?”

“I can’t sleep in here.”

“No shit.” Stiles shook his head. “The only thing missing on the floor are Lego bricks to really ruin your night.” He walked over to Theo’s dresser picking up a pair of jeans. “Are these clean?” They certainly looked clean, but he wasn’t about to check any further. Being alpha and boyfriend did not put him in the position of pack mom; although this chaos certainly needed educationally measures like grounding, the naughty step or something similar.

“You get a nosebleed when you’ve drawn too much power?” Theo asked instead of answering the question and shoved two books in a free slot on the shelf which wobbled precariously.

He knew that tone. Stiles had heard it so many times before he would recognise it anywhere. “Are you really going to do this right now?”

“Do what?”

“Lash out? Be a dick.” Stiles dropped the jeans and scratched at a smear of blood on his left sleeve, only rubbing it further into the fabric. “Because you do this every time when you’re afraid or hurt or- or, I don’t know.” He ran the back of his hand over his eyes, when his body finally caught up to his mind, to what had happened, and he was just fucking swamped with fear, exasperation and something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I don’t even _know_ that part of you because every single time you have the inkling of an emotion someone could consider weak,” Stiles continued, voice getting louder and shakier with every second Theo didn’t turn around, “you decide to get angry.” Huffing out a breath, he boxed the chimera’s shoulder who didn’t budge, of fucking course, so he did it again and again and _again_. Not hard, but with enough strength to make his displeasure known.

Theo turned around and grabbed his arm. “Stop that.”

“Then man up,” Stiles sobbed trying to control his voice but couldn’t. “Stop closing yourself off all the time.” He freed his arm wiping his eyes again with the already dirty sleeve.

Theo reached out a hand, but Stiles knocked it away. “You’re overexaggerating.”

“Just because you admitted to being afraid _once_ in a blue moon?” He hated it. He hated it so fucking much. Stiles had almost died, and Theo had been angry with Brett. Theo had permanently been pissed at Brett because he had this delusion to lose against him in a competition that didn’t even _exist_ , would never exist in the first place. Stiles had broken up with him, and, again, Theo’s reaction had been anger. Now this. He knew what had happened didn’t just fly by him. It affected him as much as it had affected Lydia and his dad. “For fucks sake,” he hissed hitting Theo’s shoulder another time, “let me comfort you. I want to be there for you, so stop being angry all the fucking time.”

The chimera didn’t react at first. He stood there looking back at Stiles with an unreadable expression; until Theo walked past him to sit down on the bed and hid his face in his hands. Stiles was at his side instantly. “I heard you calling me,” he whispered in a trembling voice, “but I couldn’t move and when I could-“ Theo looked up, and despite hearing it in his voice, Stiles wasn’t quite prepared for the tears shimmering in the hazel coloured eyes. “I just got you back. I _just_ -“ He broke off choking on a sob.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Theo’s shoulder pulling him close. Again, his boyfriend surprised him a little as he fell against him, pressing his face against his collarbone. He shivered, and Stiles ran his fingers up and down his spine, through his hair. Finally. _Finally._ Perhaps he shouldn’t be this relieved when Theo struggled with his emotions in his arms. But it was about time that he opened up. He’d be there with him, for him every step of the way, if it meant Theo would stop hiding his feelings behind anger. “It’s okay.” Stiles pressed his lips to his temple. “I’m still here.” He kept his mouth in place, closing his eyes

Theo made a quiet noise, a cross between a sigh and a sob, and he lifted Stiles on his lap to press him against him as tightly as possible. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” Stiles whispered kissing the top of his head. “I promise, you won’t lose me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Those might be manips - don't know if the two actually ever met each other - BUT I feel like they're looking kinda similiar? Maybe it's just me. Anyway, this is how I imagine the female version of Stiles to look like; in case you're interested: 
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c0/dd/95/c0dd952aeffeab14d18594f21738cd14.jpg
> 
> https://78.media.tumblr.com/7c5ab2aa7055c008bdccf7a70c92b927/tumblr_nyn0ei5RKS1u6he5so1_500.png


End file.
